■W 


LIBRARY 

UNiVEfiSTTY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSfDE 


IV i  Hi  am  Morris 


'AA-\h\A  wv'jjWW'^ 


WILLIAM  MOKKIS 


POET 
RAFTSMA 


SOCIALIST 


BY 

ELISABLTn 

LVTMEP^ 

ILLVSTI^ATED 


C,  P  PVTNA/^VSSONS 


THE  KNICKFRBOCKLR   PRLSS 


NEWYORJv^  LONDON 


Copyright,    1902 

BY 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S   SONS 


Published,  October,  1902 
Reprinted,  June,   1903 


Ubc  ll?nfcl?crbocl!cr  prcae,  Hew  HJorh 


^ 


PREFACE. 


THE  personal  life  of  William  Morris  is  already 
known  to  us  through  Mr.  Mackail's  admirable 
biography  as  fully,  probably,  as  we  shall  ever 
know  it.  My  own  endeavour  has  been  to  present 
a  picture  of  Morris's  busy  career  perhaps  not  less 
vivid  for  the  absence  of  much  detail,  and  showing 
only  the  man  and  his  work  as  they  appeared  to 
the  outer  public. 

1  have  used  as  a  basis  for  my  narrative,  the  vol- 
umes by  Mr.  Mackail;  IVilUam  Morris,  his  Art,  his 
Writings,  and  his  Public  Life,  by  Aymer  Vallance; 
The  Books  of  William  Morris,  by  H.  Buxton  Forman; 
numerous  articles  in  periodicals,  and  Morris's  own 
varied  works. 

1  wish  to  express  my  indebtedness  to  Mr.  Bulkley 
of  42  East  14th  Street,  New  York  City,  for  permission 
to  reproduce  a  number  of  Morris  patterns  in  his  pos- 
session, notably  a  fragment  of  the  St.  James's  wall- 
paper. 

Much  material  for  the  letter-press  and  for  the  illus- 
trations I  have  obtained  through  the  Boston  Public 


Ul 


IV 


preface. 


Library.  The  Froissart  pages  were  found  there  and 
most  of  the  Kelmscott  publications  from  which  I 
have  quoted. 

The  bibliography  is  that  prepared  by  Mr.  S.  C. 
Gockerell  for  the  last  volume  of  Mr.  Morris  issued  by 
the  Kelmscott  Press,  under  the  title  of  A  Note  by 
William  Morris  on  His  Aims  in  Founding  the  Kelm- 
scott Press.  To  the  Gockerell  bibliography  have  been 
added  a  few  notes  of  my  own. 


E.  L  C. 


Brooklyn,  Sept.  lo,  1902. 


j^j^,  X<  ,f^Z 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 

I. — Boyhood 


II. — Oxford  Life 

III.— From  Rossetti  to  the  Red  House 
IV. — Morris  and  Company    . 
v.— From  the  Red  House  to  Kelmscott 

VI.— Poetry 

VII. — Public  Life  and  Socialism     . 
VIII. — Public  Life  and  Socialism  (Continued) 
IX.— Literature  of  the  Socialist  Period 
X. — The  Kelmscott  Press 
XL— Later  Writings     . 
XII. — The  End 

Bibliography  . 
Index 


PAGE 

I 

21 

.    46 

•    69 

.    96 

.   114 

.   146 

•   174 

•   194 

.   219 

.   239 

•   255 

.   269 

.   291 

ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Page 
William  Morris    ....       Frontispiece 

From  Life. 

Title-page  of  "  The  Oxford  and  Cambridge  Maga- 
zine"    ........       32 

Portrait  of  Rossetti        ......       j6 

By  Waits. 

Illustration  by  Rossetti  to  "  The  Lady  of  Shalott'' 
in  the  Moxon  ''Tennyson.''  The  Head  of 
Launcelot  is  a  Portrait  of  Morris  .         .       42 

Portrait  of  Jane  Burden  (Mrs.  Morris)  .         .       j8 

By  Rossetti. 

Wall-Paper  and  Cotton-Print  Designs  .         .         .       60 

''Acanthus"  Wall-Paper  .... 

"Pimpernel"  Wall-Paper  .... 

"  African  Marigold"  Cotton-Print     . 

"  These  designs  must  not  be  taken  as  exact  as  to  colour 
afterwards  used,  Mr.  Morris  using  the  colours  to 
his  hand  and  afterwards  superintending  the  actual 
colouring  in  the  course  of  manufacture;  in  most 
cases  many  experimental  trials  being  made  before 
the  desired  colouring  was  actually  decided  upon.'' 

Reproduced  from  examples  obtained  by  courtesy  of  Mr.  A .  E. 
Bulkley. 

The  Morris  designs  in  this  book  were  reproduced  by  permission  of  Messrs. 

Morris  &  Company. 


VIU 


flUustrations 


Page 
66 

70 
72 
76 
80 
82 


"  The  Strawberry  Thief  Design  for  Cotton-Print 
Tulip  Design  for  Axminster  Carpet 
Peacock  Design  for  Coarse  Wool  Hangings 
Painted  Wall  Decoration  Designed  by  Morris 
Painted  Wall  Decoration  Designed  by  Morris 
Design  for  St.  James's  Palace  Wall-Paper 

Reproduced  from  sample  obtained  through  courtesy  of  Air.  Bulkley. 

Early  Design  for  Morris  W all-Paper  "  Daisy  and 

Columbine'"  ......       84 

Chrysanthemum  Design  for  Wall-Paper         .         .       84 

Anemone  Pattern  for  Silk  and  Wool  Curtain  Ma- 
terial   ........       88 

Portion  of  Hammersmith  Carpet  .         .         .       go 

Secretary  Designed  by  the  Morris  Co.    .         .         .       g4 

In  possession  of  Air.  Bulkley. 

Sofa  Designed  by  the  Morris  Co.  .         .         -94 

In  possession  of  Air.  Bulkley. 

Illustration  by  Burne-Jones  for  Projected  Edition 
of  "  The  Earthly  Paradise,''  Cut  on  Wood  by 
Morris  Himself     ......       g8 

Kelmscott  Manor  House.     Two  views    .         .         .     100 

Design  by  Rossetti  for  Window  Executed  by  Morris 

&  Co.     ("  The  Parable  of  the  Vineyard")        .     no 

Design  by  Rossetti  for  Stained-Glass  Window  Exe- 
cuted by  the  Morris  Co.  ("  The  Parable  of  the 
Vineyard") no 


lUluetiatioui?  ix 

Page 

Morris's  Bed,  with  Hangings  Designed  by  Himself 

and  Embroidered  by  his  Daughter  .         .         .114 

Kelmscott  Manor  House  from  the  Orchard     .         .118 

Portrait  of  Edward  Burne-Jones    ....     120 

By  Waits. 

William  Morris    .......     ijo 

Picture  by  Rossctti  in  which  the  Children's  Faces 

are  Portraits  of  May  Morris  .         .         .     148 

Honeysuckle  Design  for  Linen       .         .         .         .162 

Washing  Cloth  at  the  Merton  Abbey  Works  .         -     ^74 

Merton  Abbey  Works    .         .         .         .         .         -174 

Portrait  of  Mrs.  Morris        .....     200 

By  Rossetti. 

Study  of  Mrs.  Morris   .         .         .         .         .         .216 

Made  by  Rossetti  for  picture  called  "  The  Day  Dream." 

Kelmscott  Types  ......     220 

Page  from  Kelmscott  ''Chaucer.'"  Illustration  by 
Burne-Jones.  Border  and  Initial  Letter  by 
Morris  .......     222 

Title-page  of  the  Kelmscott  ''Chaucer''  .         .         .     224 

The  Smaller  Kelmscott  Press-Mark        .         .         .     228 

The  Larger  Kelmscott  Press-Mark         .         .         .     228 

Drawing  by  Morris  of  the  Letter  " h"  for  Kelmscott 

■  Type,  with  Notes  and  Corrections  .         .     228 

Specimen  Page  from   the   Kelmscott   " Froissart"     234 

Projected  Edition 


CHAPTER  I. 


BOYHOOD. 

THERE  is,  perhaps,  no  single  work  by  William 
Morris  that  stands  out  as  a  masterpiece  in 
evidence  of  his  individual  genius.  He  was 
not  impelled  to  give  peculiar  expression  to  his  own 
personality.  His  writing  was  seldom  emotionally 
autobiographic  as  Rossetti's  always  was,  his  painting 
and  designing  were  not  the  expression  of  a  personal 
mood  as  was  the  case  with  Burne-Jones.  But  no 
one  of  his  special  time  and  group  gave  himself  more 
fully  or  more  freely  for  others.  No  one  contributed 
more  generously  to  the  public  pleasure  and  enlight- 
enment. No  one  tried  with  more  persistent  effort 
first  to  create  and  then  to  satisfy  a  taste  for  the  pos- 
sible best  in  the  lives  and  homes  of  the  people.  He 
worked  toward  this  end  in  so  many  directions  that 
a  lesser  energy  than  his  must  have  been  dissipated 
and  a  weaker  purpose  rendered  impotent.  His  tre- 
mendous vitality  saved  him  from  the  most  humiliat- 
ing of  failures,  the  failure  to  make  good  extravagant 
promise.      He  never  lost  sight  of  the  result  in  the 


2  Milliam  riDorrie* 

endeavour,  and  his  discontent  with  existing  medio- 
crity was  neither  formless  nor  empty.  It  was  the 
motive  power  of  all  his  labour;  he  was  always  trying 
to  make  everything  ''something  different  from  what 
it  was,"  and  this  instinct  was,  alike  for  strength  and 
weakness,  says  his  chief  biographer,  ''of  the  very 
essence  of  his  nature."  To  tell  the  story  of  his  life  is 
to  write  down  the  record  of  dreams  made  real,  of 
nebulous  theories  brought  swiftly  to  the  test  of  ex- 
periment, of  the  spirit  of  the  distant  past  reincarnated 
in  the  present.  But,  as  with  most  natures  of  similar 
mould,  the  man  was  greater  than  any  part  of  his 
work,  and  even  greater  than  the  sum  of  it  all.  He 
remains  one  of  the  not-to-be-forgotten  figures  of  the 
nineteenth  century,  so  interesting  was  he,  so  impres- 
sive, so  simple-hearted,  so  nearly  adequate  to  the 
great  tasks  he  set  himself,  so  well  beloved  by  his 
companions,  so  useful,  despite  his  blunders,  to  so- 
ciety at  large. 

The  unity  that  held  together  his  manifold  forms 
of  expression  was  maintained  through  the  different 
periods  of  his  life,  making  him  a  "  whole  man  "  to  a 
more  than  usual  degree.  From  the  earliest  recorded 
incidents  of  his  childhood  we  gain  an  impression  not 
unlike  that  made  by  his  latest  years,  and  by  all  the 
interval  between.  The  very  opposite  of  Rossetti. 
with  whose  "school"  he  has  been  so  long  and  so 
mistakenly  identified,  his  nature  was  as  single  as  his 
accomplishment  was  complex,  and  the  only  means 
by  which  it  is  possible  to  get  a  just  idea  of  both  the 


former  and  the  latter  is  to  re^^ard  him  as  a  man  of 
one  preoccupation  amounting  to  an  obsession,  the 
reconstruction  of  social  and  industrial  life  according 
to  an  ideal  based  upon  the  more  poetic  aspects  of 
the  Middle  Ages.  From  first  to  last  the  early  English 
world,  the  English  world  of  the  thirteenth  and  four- 
teenth centuries,  was  the  world  to  which  he  be- 
longed. "Born  out  of  his  due  time,''  in  truth,  he 
began  almost  from  his  birth  to  accumulate  associa- 
tions with  the  time  to  which  he  should  have  been 
native  and  whose  far  off  splendour  lured  him  con- 
stantly back  toward  it. 

The  third  of  nine  children,  he  was  born  at  Wal- 
thamstow,  in  Essex,  England,  on  the  24th  of  March, 
1834.  On  the  Morris  side  he  came  of  Welsh  ances- 
try, a  fact  accounting  perhaps  for  the  mingled  gloom 
and  romance  of  his  temperament.  His  fLither  was  a 
discount  broker  in  opulent  circumstances,  and  his 
mother  was  descended  from  a  family  of  prosperous 
merchants  and  landed  proprietors.  On  the  maternal 
side  a  strong  talent  for  music  existed,  but  in  the 
Morris  family  no  more  artistic  quality  can  be  traced 
than  a  devotion  to  general  excellence,  to  which 
William  Morris  certainly  fell  heir.  For  a  time  he 
was  a  sickly  child,  and  used  the  opportunity  to  ad- 
vance his  reading,  being  ''  already  deep  in  the  Waver- 
ley  novels  "  when  four  years  old,  and  having  gone 
through  these  and  many  others  before  he  was  seven. 
in  1840  the  family  removed  to  Woodford  Hall,  a 
house  belonging  to  the  Georgian  period,  standing  in 


4  MiUiam  flDorrle. 

about  fifty  acres  of  park,  on  the  road  from  London 
to  Epping,  and  here  Morris  led  an  outdoor  life  with 
the  result  of  rapidly  establishing  his  health,  steeping 
mind  and  sense  in  the  sights  and  sounds  of  nature 
dear  to  him  forever  after,  and  gaining  intimate  ac- 
quaintance with  the  romantic  and  mediaeval  sur- 
roundings by  which  his  whole  career  was  to  be 
influenced.  The  county  of  Essex  was  well  adapted 
to  feed  his  prodigious  appetite  for  antiquities.  Its 
churches,  in  numbers  of  which  Norman  masonry  is 
to  be  found,  its  ancient  brasses  (that  of  the  school- 
boy Thomas  Heron  being  among  many  others  with- 
in easy  reach  of  Woodford),  and  its  tapestry-hung 
houses,  all  stimulated  his  inborn  love  of  the  Middle 
Ages  and  started  him  fairly  on  that  path  through  the 
thirteenth  century  which  he  followed  deviously  as 
long  as  he  lived.  Even  in  his  own  home,  we  are 
told,  certain  of  the  habits  of  mediaeval  England  per- 
sisted, such  as  the  brewing  of  beer,  the  meal  of 
cakes  and  ale  at  "  high  prime,"  the  keeping  of  Twelfth 
Night,  and  other  such  festivals.  The  places  he  lived 
in  counted  for  much  with  him  always,  and  the  im- 
pressions of  this  childish  period  remained,  like  all  his 
later  impressions,  keen  and  permanent.  Toward  the 
end  of  his  life  he  printed  at  the  Kelmscott  Press  the 
carol  Good  King  Wenceslas,  which  begins  with  a 
lusty  freshness: 

Good  King  Wenceslas  look'd  out, 

On  the  feast  of  Stephen, 
When  the  snow  lay  round  about. 


Bov^hoo^  5 

Deep  and  crisp  and  even. 
Brightly  shone  the  moon  that  night, 

Though  the  frost  was  cruel, 
When  a  poor  man  came  in  sight 

Gath'ring  winter  fuel. 

''The  legend  itself,''  he  comments,  'Ms  a  pleasing 
and  genuine  one,  and  the  Christmas-like  quality  of 
it,  recalling  the  times  of  my  boyhood,  appeals  to  me 
at  least  as  a  memory  of  past  days." 

Beside  angling,  shooting,  and  riding,  he  very  early 
occupied  much  of  his  time  with  visits  to  the  old 
churches,  a  pursuit  of  which  he  was  never  to  weary, 
studying  their  monuments  and  accumulating  an 
amount  of  genuine  erudition  concerning  them  quite 
out  of  proportion  to  his  rather  moderate  accomplish- 
ment along  the  ordinary  lines  of  study.  At  an  age 
when  Scott  was  scouring  his  native  heath  in  search 
of  Border  ballads  and  antiquities,  this  almost  equally 
precocious  boy  was  collecting  rubbings  from  ancient 
inscriptions,  and  picturing  to  himself,  as  he  wan- 
dered about  the  region  of  his  home  on  foot  or  on 
horseback,  the  lovely  face  of  England  as  it  looked  in 
the  thirteenth  or  fourteenth  century.  In  one  of  the 
earliest  of  the  boyish  romances  that  appeared  in  the 
Oxford  and  Cambridge  Maga:(ine,  he  imagines  him- 
self the  master-mason  of  a  church  built  more  than 
six  centuries  before,  and  which  has  vanished  from 
the  face  of  the  earth  with  nothing  to  indicate  its 
existence  save  earth-covered  ruins  "heaving  the 
yellow  corn  into  glorious  waves."    His  description 


6  Milliam  flDorrle, 

of  the  carving  on  the  bas-reliefs  of  the  west  front 
and  on  the  tombs  shows  with  what  loving  intensity 
he  has  studied  the  most  minute  details  of  the  work 
of  the  ancient  builders  in  whose  footsteps  he  would 
have  rejoiced  much  to  tread.  How  far  his  family 
sympathised  with  his  tastes  it  is  impossible  to  say, 
but  probably  not  deeply.  We  have  few  hints  of  the 
personal  side  of  his  home-life;  we  know  that  a  visit 
to  Canterbury  Cathedral  with  his  father  was  among 
the  indelible  experiences  of  his  first  decade,  and  that 
he  possessed  among  his  toys  a  little  suit  of  armour  in 
which  he  rode  about  the  park  after  the  manner  of 
a  Froissart  knight,  and  that  is  about  all  we  do  know 
until  we  hear  of  the  strong  disapproval  of  his  mother 
and  one  of  his  sisters  for  the  career  that  finally  di- 
verted his  interest  from  the  Church  for  which  they 
had  designed  him. 

His  formal  education  began  when  he  was  sent  at 
the  age  of  nine  to  a  preparatory  school  kept  by  a 
couple  of  maiden  ladies.  There  he  remained  until 
the  death  of  his  father  in  1847.  In  February,  1848, 
he  went  to  Marlborough  College,  a  nomination  to 
which  his  father  had  purchased  for  him.  The  best 
that  can  be  said  for  this  school  seems  to  be  that  it 
was  situated  in  a  part  of  England  ideally  suited  to  a 
boy  of  archaeological  tastes,  and  was  provided  with 
an  excellent  archaeological  and  architectural  library. 
Here  his  eager  mind  browsed  on  the  literature  of 
English  Gothic,  and  his  restless  feet  carried  him  far 
afield  among  pre-Celtic  barrows,  stone  circles,  and 


Roman  villas.  Savernake  Forest  was  close  at  hand 
and  he  spent  many  of  his  holidays  within  it.  It 
was  doubtless  the  familiarity  with  all  aspects  of  the 
woods,  due  to  his  pilgrimages  through  Savernake 
and  Epping  Forests  and  the  long  roving  days  idled 
away  among  their  shadows,  that  gave  rise  to  the 
allusions  in  his  books — early  and  late — to  woodland 
life.  The  passage  through  the  thick  wood  and 
the  coming  at  last  to  the  place  where  the  trees 
thin  out  and  the  light  begins  to  shimmer  through 
them  is  a  constantly  recurring  figure  of  his  verse  and 
of  his  prose.  Frequently  the  important  scene  of  a 
romance  or  of  a  long  poem  is  laid  in  a  wildwood,  as 
in  the  story  entitled  The  IVood  beyond  the  World,  or 
in  Goldilocks  and  Goldilocks,  the  concluding  poem 
of  the  volume  of  Poems  by  the  Way,  in  which  the 
great  grey  boles  of  the  trees,  the  bramble  bush,  the 
"  woodlawn  clear,"  and  the  cherished  oaks  are  as 
vivid  as  the  human  actors  in  the  drama.  His  heroes 
seldom  fail  of  being  deft  woodsmen,  able  to  thread 
the  tangle  of  underbrush  by  blind  paths,  and  observ- 
ant of  all  the  common  sights  and  sounds  of  the 
woodland,  rabbits  scuttling  out  of  the  grass,  adders 
sunning  themselves  on  stones  in  the  cleared  spaces, 
wild  swine  running  grunting  toward  close  covert, 
hart  and  hind  bounding  across  the  way.  They  know 
the  musty  savour  of  water  dipped  from  a  forest  brook, 
they  know  how  to  go  straight  to  the  yew  sticks  that 
quarter  best  for  bow-staves,  they  know  the  feeling 
of  the  boggy  moss  under  their  feet,  and  the  sound  of 


8  Milliam  riDorne. 

the  'Mron  wind"  through  the  branches  in  the  depth 
of  winter ;  there  is  no  detail  of  wild  wood  life  of 
which  they  are  ignorant.  This  intimacy  with  Nature 
in  her  most  secluded  moments,  in  her  shyest  and 
most  mysterious  aspect,  forms  an  element  of  inex- 
pressible charm  in  the  lovely  backgrounds  against 
which  Morris  delighted  to  place  his  visionary  figures. 
He  never  tired  of  combining  the  impressions  stored 
away  in  his  mind  on  his  boyish  rambles  into  pictures 
the  delicate  beauty  of  which  can  hardly  be  over- 
estimated. 

While  he  was  at  school,  his  already  highly  de- 
veloped imagination  found  an  outlet  in  constant 
fable-making,  his  tales  of  knights  and  fairies  and 
miraculous  adventures  having  a  considerable  popu- 
larity among  his  comrades,  with  whom,  however, 
he  himself  was  not  especially  popular,  making  friends 
with  them  only  in  a  superficial  fashion.  Judging 
from  the  autobiographic  fragments  occasionally  found 
in  his  work,  he  was  a  boy  of  many  moods,  most  of 
them  tinged  with  the  self-conscious  melancholy  of 
his  early  poetry.  Sentiment  was  strong  with  him, 
and  a  peculiar  reticence  or  detachment  of  tempera- 
ment kept  him  independent  of  others  during  his 
school  years,  and  apparently  uninfluenced  by  the 
tastes  or  opinions  of  those  about  him,  if  we  except 
the  case  of  his  Anglo-Catholic  proclivities,  which 
obviously  were  fed  by  the  tendencies  of  the  school, 
but  which,  so  far  from  diverting  him  from  the  general 
scheme  of  his  individual  interests,  fitted  into  them 


and  served  him  as  another  link  between  the  present 
and  the  much  preferred  past. 

Outwardly  he  can  hardly  have  seemed  the  typical 
dreamer  he  has  described  himself  as  being.  Beauti- 
ful of  feature,  of  sturdy  build,  with  a  shouting  voice, 
extraordinary  muscular  strength,  and  a  gusty  temper, 
he  impressed  himself  upon  his  comrades  chiefly  by 
his  impetuosity  in  the  energetic  game  of  singlestick, 
by  the  surplus  vigour  that  led  him  at  times  to  punch 
his  own  head  with  all  his  might  to  "take  it  out  of 
himself,"  and  by  the  vehemence  and  enthusiasm  of 
his  argumentative  talk. 

He  was  little  of  a  student  along  the  orthodox 
lines,  and  Marlborough  College  was  not  calculated 
to  increase  his  respect — never  undue — for  pedagogic 
methods.  A  letter  written  when  he  was  sixteen  to 
his  eldest  and  favourite  sister  reflects  quite  fully  his 
pre-occupations.  It  has  none  of  the  genuine  wit 
and  literary  tone  of  the  juvenile  letter  written  by 
Stevenson  to  his  father,  presenting  his  claims  for  re- 
imbursements. It  shows  no  such  zest  for  bookish 
pursuits  as  Rossetti's  letters,  written  at  the  same 
age,  reveal.  But  it  is  entirely  free  from  the  shallow 
flippancy  that  frequently  characterises  the  corre- 
spondence of  a  young  man's  second  decade — that 
characterised  Lowell's,  for  example,  to  an  almost 
painful  degree;  nor  has  it  a  shade  of  the  self-magnifl- 
cation  to  which  any  amount  of  flippancy  is  preferable. 
It  is  straightforward  and  boyish,  and  remarkable 
only  as  showing  the  thorough  and  intelligent  method 


lo  Milliam  HDorris, 

with  which  its  writer  followed  up  whatever  com- 
manded his  interest.  Commencing  with  the  de- 
scription of  an  anthem  sung  at  Easter  by  the  trained 
choir  of  Blore's  Chapel  connected  with  his  school, 
he  passes  on  to  an  account  of  his  archaeological  in- 
vestigations, giving  after  his  characteristic  fashion  all 
the  small  details  necessary  to  enable  his  correspond- 
ent to  form  a  definite  picture  of  the  places  he  had 
visited.  After  he  had  made  one  pilgrimage  to  the 
Druidical  circle  and  Roman  entrenchment  at  Ave- 
bury,  he  had  learned  of  the  peculiar  method  of  pla- 
cing the  stones  which,  from  the  dislocated  condition 
of  the  ruins,  had  not  been  obvious  to  him.  There- 
fore he  had  returned  on  the  following  day  to  study 
it  out  and  fix  the  original  arrangement  firmly  in  his 
imagination,  and,  at  the  time  of  writing  the  letter, 
was  able  to  explain  it  quite  clearly,  a  result,  derived 
from  the  expenditure  of  two  holidays,  that  was  com- 
pletely satisfactory  to  him.  He  winds  up  with  a 
purely  boyish  plea  for  a  "good  large  cake  "  and  some 
biscuit  in  addition  to  a  cheese  that  had  been  prom- 
ised him,  and  for  paper  and  postage  stamps  and  his 
silkworm  eggs  and  a  pen  box  to  be  sent  him  from 
home. 

At  school  he  was  ''  always  thinking  about  home," 
and  when  the  family  moved  again  to  Walthamstow, 
within  a  short  distance  of  his  first  home,  and  to  a 
house  boasting  a  moat  and  a  wooded  island,  he  was 
eagerly  responsive  to  the  poetic  suggestions  con- 
veyed by  these  romantic  accessories.     When  at  the 


Bo^boob.  II 

end  of  185 1  he  left  school  to  prepare  under  a  private 
tutor  for  Oxford,  he  renewed  his  early  familiarity 
with  Epping  Forest  and  spent  most  of  his  holidays 
among  the  trees  that  had  not  apparently  changed 
since  the  time  of  Edward  the  Confessor.  The  great 
age  of  the  wood  and  its  peculiarly  English  character 
made  a  profound  impression  upon  him,  and  it  is  easy 
to  imagine  the  fury  with  which  he  must  have  re- 
ceived the  suggestion,  made  forty  years  later  by  Mr. 
Alfred  Wallace,  that  in  place  of  "a  hideous  assem- 
blage of  stunted  mop-like  pollards  rising  from  a 
thicket  of  scrubby  bushes,"  North  American  trees 
should  be  planted  and  a  part  of  the  forest  made  into 
an  "almost  exact  copy"  of  North  American  wood- 
land. Indeed,  a  suppressed  but  unmistakable  fury 
breathes  from  the  letters  written  to  the  Daily  Chroni- 
cle, as  late  as  1895,  regarding  the  tree-felling  that 
was  going  on  ruthlessly  in  the  forest,  destroying  its 
native  character  and  individual  charm.  These  letters, 
curiously  recalling  those  written  half  a  century  before 
concerning  boyish  excursions  through  the  same  re- 
gion, are  well  worth  quoting  here,  where  properly 
they  belong,  as  they  are  inspired  by  the  earliest  of 
the  associations  and  ideals  cherished  by  Morris  to 
the  end  of  his  life.  They  are  fine  examples  of  his 
own  native  character  in  argument,  his  humbly  di- 
dactic tone  early  caught  from  Ruskin  and  never  re- 
linquished, his  militant  irony,  his  willingness  to 
fortify  his  position  by  painstaking  investigation,  his 
moral  attitude  toward  matters  artistic,  his  superb 


12  MilUam  flDorric\ 

Tightness  of  taste  in  the  special  problem  under  dis- 
cussion. They  show  also  how  closely  his  memory 
had  held  through  his  manifold  interests  the  details 
that  had  appealed  to  him  in  his  boyhood.  The  first 
letter  is  dated  April  23rd,  and  addressed  to  the  editor 
of  the  Daily  Chronicle. 

''Sir:  I  venture  to  ask  you  to  allow  me  a  few 
words  on  the  subject  of  the  present  treatment  of 
Epping  Forest.  1  was  born  and  bred  in  its  neigh- 
bourhood (Walthamstow  and  Woodford),  and  when 
1  was  a  boy  and  young  man  I  knew  it  yard  by  yard 
from  Wanstead  to  the  Theydons,  and  from  Hale  End 
to  the  Fairlop  Oak.  In  those  days  it  had  no  worse 
foes  than  the  gravel  stealer  and  the  rolling-fence 
maker,  and  was  always  interesting  and  often  very 
beautiful.  From  what  1  can  hear  it  is  years  since 
the  greater  part  of  it  has  been  destroyed,  and  1  fear. 
Sir,  that  in  spite  of  your  late  optimistic  note  on  the 
subject,  what  is  left  of  it  now  runs  the  danger  of 
further  ruin. 

"The  special  character  of  it  was  derived  from  the 
fact  that  by  far  the  greater  part  was  a  wood  of  horn- 
beams, a  tree  not  common  save  in  Essex  and  Herts. 
It  was  certainly  the  biggest  hornbeam  wood  in  these 
islands,  and  1  suppose  in  the  world.  The  said  horn- 
beams were  all  pollards,  being  shrouded  every  four 
or  six  years,  and  were  interspersed  in  many  places 
with  holly  thickets,  and  the  result  was  a  very  curious 
and  characteristic  wood,  such  as  can  be  seen  nowhere 


else.  And  I  submit  that  no  treatment  of  it  can  be 
tolerable  which  does  not  maintain  this  hornbeam 
wood  intact. 

"But  the  hornbeam,  though  an  interesting  tree 
to  an  artist  and  reasonable  person,  is  no  favourite 
with  the  landscape  gardener,  and  1  very  much  fear 
that  the  intention  of  the  authorities  is  to  clear  the 
forest  of  native  trees,  and  to  plant  vile  weeds  like 
deodars  and  outlandish  conifers  instead.  We  are 
told  that  a  committee  of  'experts'  has  been  formed 
to  sit  in  judgment  on  Epping  Forest;  but,  Sir,  I  de- 
cline to  be  gagged  by  the  word  '  expert,'  and  I  call 
on  the  public  generally  to  take  the  same  position. 
An  '  expert '  may  be  a  very  dangerous  person,  be- 
cause he  is  likely  to  narrow  his  views  to  the  par- 
ticular business  (usually  a  commercial  one)  which 
he  represents.  In  this  case,  for  instance,  we  do  not 
want  to  be  under  the  thumb  of  either  a  wood  bailiff 
whose  business  is  to  grow  timber  for  the  market,  or 
of  a  botanist  whose  business  is  to  collect  specimens 
for  a  botanical  garden;  or  of  a  landscape  gardener 
whose  business  is  to  vulgarise  a  garden  or  landscape 
to  the  utmost  extent  that  his  patron's  purse  will 
allow  of.  What  we  want  is  reasonable  men  of  real 
artistic  taste  to  take  into  consideration  what  the 
essential  needs  of  the  case  are,  and  to  advise 
accordingly.  Now  it  seems  to  me  that  the  authori- 
ties who  have  Epping  Forest  in  hand  may  have  two 
intentions  as  to  it.  First,  they  may  intend  to  land- 
scape-garden it,  or  turn  it  into  golf  grounds  (and  I 


14  TOilliam  flDorris, 

very  much  fear  that  even  the  latter  nuisance  may  be 
in  their  minds);  or  second,  they  may  really  think  it 
necessary  (as  you  suggest)  to  thin  the  hornbeams, 
so  as  to  give  them  a  better  chance  of  growing.  The 
first  alternative  we  Londoners  should  protest  against 
to  the  utmost,  for  if  it  be  carried  out  then  Epping 
Forest  is  turned  into  a  mere  place  of  vulgarity,  is 
destroyed  in  fact. 

"  As  to  the  second,  to  put  our  minds  at  rest,  we 
ought  to  be  assured  that  the  cleared  spaces  would 
be  planted  again,  and  that  almost  wholly  with  horn- 
beam. And,  further,  the  greatest  possible  care  should 
be  taken  that  not  a  single  tree  should  be  felled  unless 
it  is  necessary  for  the  growth  of  its  fellows.  Because, 
mind  you,  with  comparatively  small  trees,  the  really 
beautiful  effect  of  them  can  only  be  got  by  their 
standing  as  close  together  as  the  emergencies  of 
growth  will  allow.  We  want  a  thicket,  not  a  park, 
from  Epping  Forest. 

"  In  short,  a  great  and  practically  irreparable  mis- 
take will  be  made  if,  under  the  shelter  of  the  opinion 
of  '  experts,'  from  mere  carelessness  and  thoughtless- 
ness, we  let  the  matter  slip  out  of  the  hands  of  the 
thoughtful  part  of  the  public;  the  essential  character 
of  one  of  the  greatest  ornaments  of  London  will  dis- 
appear, and  no  one  will  have  even  a  sample  left  to 
show  what  the  great  north-eastern  forest  was  like. 
1  am,  Sir,  yours  obediently, 

''William  Morris 

"  Kelmscott  House,  Hammersmith," 


Bo^boo^  15 

The  second  letter  is  written  two  or  three  weeks 
later,  and  shows  Morris  as  characteristically  prompt 
and  thorough  in  action  as  he  is  positive  in  speech. 

''  Yesterday,"  he  says,  '*  I  carried  out  my  intention 
of  visiting  Epping  Forest.  1  went  to  Loughton  first, 
and  saw  the  work  that  had  been  done  about  Clay 
Road,  thence  to  Monk  Wood,  thence  to  Theydon 
Woods,  and  thence  to  the  part  about  the  Chingford 
Hotel,  passing  by  Fair  Mead  Bottom  and  lastly  to 
Bury  Wood  and  the  wood  on  the  other  side  of  the 
road  thereby. 

'M  can  verify  closely  your  representative's  ac- 
count of  the  doings  on  the  Clay  Road,  which  is  an 
ugly  scar  originally  made  by  the  lord  of  the  manor 
when  he  contemplated  handing  over  to  the  builder 
a  part  of  what  he  thought  was  his  property.  The 
fellings  here  seem  to  me  all  pure  damage  to  the 
forest,  and  in  fact  were  quite  unaccountable  to  me, 
and  would  surely  be  so  to  any  unprejudiced  person. 
1  cannot  see  what  could  be  pleaded  for  them  either 
on  the  side  of  utility  or  taste. 

''About  Monk  Wood  there  had  been  much,  and 
1  should  say  excessive,  felling  of  trees  apparently 
quite  sound.  This  is  a  very  beautiful  spot,  and  1 
was  informed  that  the  trees  there  had  not  been 
polled  for  a  period  long  before  the  acquisition  of  the 
forest  for  the  public;  and  nothing  could  be  more 
interesting  and  romantic  than  the  effect  of  the  long 
poles  of  the  hornbeams  rising  from  the  trunks  and 


i6  *    Milliam  movvie. 

seen  against  the  mass  of  the  wood  behind.  This 
wood  should  be  guarded  most  jealously  as  a  treasure 
of  beauty  so  near  to  'the  Wen.'  In  the  Theydon 
Woods,  which  are  mainly  of  beech,  a  great  deal 
of  felling  has  gone  on,  to  my  mind  quite  un- 
necessary, and  therefore  harmful.  On  the  road 
between  the  Wake  Arms  and  the  King's  Oak 
Hotel  there  has  been  again  much  felling,  obviously 
destructive, 

"  In  Bury  Wood  (by  Sewardstone  Green)  we  saw 
the  trunks  of  a  great  number  of  oak  trees  (not  pol- 
lards), all  of  them  sound,  and  a  great  number  were 
yet  standing  in  the  wood  marked  for  felling,  which, 
however,  we  heard  had  been  saved  by  a  majority 
of  the  committee  of  experts.  1  can  only  say  that  it 
would  have  been  a  very  great  misfortune  if  they  had 
been  lost;  in  almost  every  case  where  the  stumps 
of  the  felled  trees  showed  there  seemed  to  have 
been  no  reason  for  their  destruction.  The  wood  on 
the  other  side  of  the  road  to  Bury  Wood,  called 
in  the  map  Woodman's  Glade,  has  not  suffered  from 
felling,  and  stands  as  an  object  lesson  to  show  how 
unnecessary  such  felling  is.  It  is  one  of  the  thickest 
parts  of  the  forest,  and  looks  in  all  respects  like  such 
woods  were  forty  years  ago,  the  growth  of  the  heads 
of  the  hornbeams  being  but  slow;  but  there  is  no 
difficulty  in  getting  through  it  in  all  directions,  and 
it  has  a  peculiar  charm  of  its  own  not  to  be  found  in 
any  other  forest;  in  short,  it  is  thoroughly  character- 
istic.    I  should  mention  that  the  whole  of  these 


©o^hoob.  17 

woods  are  composed  of  pollard  hornbeams  and 
'spear' — /.  c,  unpolled — oaks. 

"  1  am  compelled  to  say  from  what  1  saw  in  a 
long  day's  inspection,  that,  though  no  doubt  acting 
with  the  best  intentions,  the  management  of  the 
forest  is  going  on  the  wrong  tack  ;  it  is  making  war 
on  the  natural  aspect  of  the  forest,  which  the  Act  of 
Parliament  that  conferred  it  on  the  nation  expressly 
stipulated  was  to  be  retained.  The  tendency  of  all 
these  fellings  is  on  the  one  hand  to  turn  over  London 
forest  into  a  park,  which  would  be  more  or  less  like 
other  parks,  and  on  the  other  hand  to  grow  sizable 
trees,  as  if  for  the  timber  market.  I  must  beg  to  be 
allowed  a  short  quotation  here  from  an  excellent 
little  guidebook  to  the  forest  by  Mr.  Edward  North 
Buxton,  verderer  of  the  forest  (Sanford,  1885).  He 
says,  p.  38:  '  In  the  drier  parts  of  the  forest  beeches 
to  a  great  extent  take  the  place  of  oaks.  These 
"spear"'  trees  will  make  fme  timber  for  future  gen- 
erations, provided  they  receive  timely  attention  by 
being  relieved  of  the  compctiiisr  growth  of  the  iinpic- 
tiiresque  hornbeam  pollards.  Throughout  the  wood 
between  Chingford  and  High  Beech,  this  has  been 
recently  done,  to  the  great  advantage  of  the  tlner 
trees.' 

"The  italics  are  mine,  and  1  ask.  Sir,  if  we  want 
any  further  evidence  than  this  of  one  of  the  ver- 
derers  as  to  the  tendency  of  the  fellings,  Mr.  Bux- 
ton declares  in  so  many  words  that  he  wants  to 
change  the  special  character  of  the  forest;  to  take 


1 8  Milliam  nDorrie. 

away  this  strange,  unexampled,  and  most  romantic 
wood,  and  leave  us  nothing  but  a  commonplace  in- 
stead. 1  entirely  deny  his  right  to  do  so  in  the  teeth 
of  the  Act  of  Parliament.  1  assert,  as  I  did  in  my 
former  letter,  that  the  hornbeams  are  the  most  im- 
portant trees  in  the  forest,  since  they  give  it  its 
special  character.  At  the  same  time  I  would  not 
encourage  the  hornbeams  at  the  expense  of  the 
beeches,  any  more  than  1  would  the  beeches  at 
the  expense  of  the  hornbeams.  1  would  leave  them 
all  to  nature,  which  is  not  so  niggard  after  all,  even 
on  Epping  Forest  gravel,  as  e.  g.,  one  can  see  in 
places  where  forest  fires  have  denuded  spaces,  and 
where  in  a  short  time  birches  spring  up  self-sown. 

''The  committee  of  the  Common  Council  has 
now  had  Epping  Forest  in  hand  for  seventeen  years, 
and  has,  I  am  told,  in  that  time  felled  100,000  trees. 
I  think  the  public  may  now  fairly  ask  for  a  rest  on 
behalf  of  the  woods,  which,  if  the  present  system 
of  felling  goes  on,  will  be  ruined  as  a  natural  forest; 
and  it  is  good  and  useful  to  make  the  claim  at  once, 
when,  in  spite  of  all  disfigurements,  the  northern 
part  of  the  forest,  from  Sewardstone  Green  to  be- 
yond Epping,  is  still  left  to  us,  not  to  be  surpassed 
in  interest  by  any  other  wood  near  a  great  capital.  I 
am,  Sir,  yours  obediently, 

"  William  Morris." 

These  letters  emphasise  in  a  single  instance  what 
the  close  student  of  Morris  will  find  emphasised  at 


16o^boo^.  19 

every  turn  in  his  career, — the  persistent  and  strong 
influence  over  him  of  the  tastes  and  occupations  of 
his  boyhood.  Unless  this  is  kept  constantly  in  mind, 
it  is  easy  to  fall  into  the  common  error  of  regarding 
the  various  activities  into  which  he  threw  himself  as 
separate  and  dissociated  instead  of  seeing  them  as 
they  were,  component  parts  of  a  perfectly  simple 
purpose  and  unalterable  ideal.  With  most  men  who 
are  on  the  whole  true  to  the  analogy  of  the  cham- 
bered nautilus  and  cast  off  the  outworn  shell  of  their 
successive  phases  of  individuality  as  the  seasons 
roll,  the  effect  of  early  environment  and  tendency 
may  easily  be  exaggerated,  but  Morris  grew  in  the 
fashion  of  his  beloved  oaks,  keeping  the  rings  by 
which  his  advance  in  experience  was  marked;  at  the 
end  all  were  visible.  His  education  began  and  con- 
tinued largely  outside  the  domain  of  books  and  away 
from  masters.  His  wanderings  in  the  depths  of  the 
quaint  and  beautiful  forest,  his  intimate  acquaintance 
with  the  nature  of  Gothic  architecture,  his  familiarity 
with  Scott,  his  prompt  adoption  of  Ruskin,  all  these 
formed  the  foundation  on  which  he  was  to  build  his 
own  theory  of  life,  and  all  were  his  before  he  went 
up  to  Oxford.  They  prepared  him  for  the  many- 
sided  profession,  if  profession  it  can  be  called,  which 
was  to  absorb  and  at  last  to  exhaust  his  mighty  en- 
ergy. It  was  the  tangible  surf^ice  of  the  world  that 
most  inspired  him  in  boyhood  and  in  maturity. 
Loving  so  much  even  as  a  child  its  aspects,  its  lights 
and  shadows,   the  forms  of  trees  and  birds  and 


20 


Milliam  riDorrie. 


beasts,  the  changes  of  season,  the  lives  of  men  living 
close  to  "the  kind  soil  "  and  in  touch  with  it  through 
hearty  manual  labour,  it  was  but  a  step  to  the  occupa- 
tions that  finally  engrossed  him.  He  never  got  so 
far  away  from  the  visions  of  his  youth  as  to  forget 
them.  In  one  form  or  another  he  was  constantly 
trying  to  embody  them  that  others  might  see  them 
with  his  eyes  and  worship  them  with  his  devotion. 
"  The  spirit  of  the  new  days,  of  our  days,"  says  the 
old  man  in  News  from  Nowhere,  "was  to  be  delight 
in  the  life  of  the  world,  intense  and  almost  over- 
weening love  of  the  very  skin  and  surface  of  the 
earth  on  which  man  dwells." 


CHAPTER  II. 
OXFORD  LIFE. 

LIKE  the  majority  of  the  students  who  went  up 
to  Oxford  in  the  fifties,  Morris  matriculated 
with  the  definite  intention  of  taking  holy 
orders.  Unlike  the  majority,  he  was  impelled  not 
only  by  the  sensuous  beauty  of  ritualistic  worship, 
to  which,  however,  no  one  could  have  been  more 
keenly  alive  than  he,  but  by  a  genuine  enthusiasm 
for  a  life  devoted  to  high  purposes.  A  fine  buoyant 
desire  to  better  existing  conditions  and  sweep  as 
much  evil  as  possible  off  the  face  of  the  earth  early 
inspired  him.  His  mind  turned  toward  the  conven- 
tual life  as  that  which  combined  the  mediaeval  sug- 
gestions always  alluring  to  him  with  the  moral  beauty 
of  holiness.  He  planned  a  ''  Crusade  and  Holy  War- 
fare against  the  Age,"  sang  plain  song  at  daily  morn- 
ing service,  read  masses  of  mediaeval  chronicles  and 
ecclesiastical  Latin  poetry,  and  hovered  just  this  side 
of  the  Roman  Communion.  Had  the  ecclesiology 
of  the  University  been  supported  at  that  time  by  an 
inward  and  spiritual  grace  sufficient  to  hold  the  heart 

21 


22  MiUiam  riDorris. 

of  youth  to  a  sustained  allegiance,  there  is  little 
doubt  that  Morris  would  have  thrown  himself  ar- 
dently into  the  religious  path.  But  Oxford  had 
become  an  indolent  and  indifferent  mother  to  her 
children.  The  storm  of  feeling  aroused  by  the  Tracta- 
rian  movement  had  died  down  and  the  reaction  from 
it  was  evident.  At  Balliol  Jowett's  energy  had  made 
its  mark,  but  at  Exeter,  where  Morris  was,  the  edu- 
cational system  deserved  (and  received)  the  contempt 
of  an  ambitious  boy  with  an  unusually  large  supply 
of  stored-up  intellectual  force  seeking  outlet  and 
guidance.  Nor  was  the  social  life  more  stimulating 
to  moral  activity.  The  abuses  recorded  in  1852  by 
the  University  Commission  were  in  essence  so  shame- 
ful that  in  the  light  of  that  famous  report  "  the  sweet 
city  with  her  dreaming  spires"  seems  to  have  only 
the  beauty  of  the  daughter  of  Helios,  under  whose 
enchantments  men  were  turned  to  swine  for  loving 
her.  The  clean  mind  and  honest  nature  of  Morris 
revolted  from  the  excesses  that  went  on  about  him. 
He  wrote  to  his  mother  two  years  after  his  matricula- 
tion, defending  the  proposition  that  his  Oxford  edu- 
cation had  not  been  thrown  away:  "  If  by  living  here 
and  seeing  evil  and  sin  in  its  foulest  and  coarsest 
forms,  as  one  does  day  by  day,  I  have  learned  to  hate 
any  form  of  sin  and  to  wish  to  fight  against  it,  is  not 
this  well  too  ?  "  It  is  proof  of  his  purity  of  taste  and 
strength  of  will  that,  despite  his  ample  means,  the 
wanton  extravagance  of  the  typical  undergraduate 
had  for  him  no  allurement.     It  is  certain  that  he  was 


®Ifor^  Xifc.  23 

never  seen  at  those  dinners  which  were  pronounced 
by  an  official  censor  "a  curse  and  a  disgrace  to  a 
place  of  Christian  education,"  and  as  certainly  he 
played  no  part  in  the  mad  carnivals  at  which  novices 
were  initiated  into  a  curriculum  of  vice.  Yet  he 
could  not  indeed  say  with  any  truth  what  Gibbon 
had  said  a  hundred  years  before,  that  the  time  he 
spent  at  Oxford  was  the  most  idle  and  unprofitable 
of  his  whole  life.  If  he  felt,  as  Gibbon  did,  that  his 
formal  studies  were  "equally  devoid  of  profit  and 
pleasure,"  and  if  he  found  nothing  ridiculous  in  Rus- 
kin's  bitter  complaint  that  Oxford  taught  him  all  the 
Latin  and  Greek  that  he  would  learn,  but  did  not 
teach  him  that  fritillaries  grew  in  Iffley  meadow,  he 
did  find  a  little  band  of  helpful  associates.  With 
these  he  realised  the  priceless  advantages  which  Mr. 
Bagehot  says  cannot  be  got  outside  a  college  and 
which  he  sums  up  as  found  'Mn  the  books  that  all 
read  because  all  like;  in  what  all  talk  of  because  all 
are  interested;  in  the  argumentative  walk  or  disputa- 
tious lounge;  in  the  impact  of  fresh  thought  on  fresh 
thought,  of  hot  thought  on  hot  thought;  in  mirth 
and  refutation,  in  ridicule  and  laughter."  The  first 
of  the  few  strong  personal  attachments  in  the  life  of 
Morris  dates  from  his  first  day  at  Oxford.  At  the 
end  of  January,  iSs},  he  went  up  for  his  matricula- 
tion, and  beside  him  at  the  examination  in  the  Hall 
sat  Burne-Jones,  who  within  a  week  of  their  formal 
entrance  to  the  college  became  his  intimate.  The 
friendship  thus  spontaneously  formed  on  the  verge  of 


24  Milliam  riDorris, 

manhood  lasted  until  Morris  died.  In  their  studies, 
in  their  truant  reading,  in  their  later  aims  and  work, 
the  two,  diametrically  as  they  differed  in  aspect 
and  in  temperament  and  in  quality  of  mind,  were 
sympathetic  and  dear  companions.  Together  they 
joined  a  group  of  other  happily  gifted  men— Fulford, 
Faulkner,  Dixon,  Cormell  Price,  and  Macdonald  — 
who  met  in  one  another's  rooms  for  the  disputatious 
lounge  over  the  exuberant  ideals  by  which  they  were 
in  common  inspired.  Tennyson,  Keats,  and  Shelley, 
Shakespeare,  Ruskin,  Carlyle,  Kingsley,  Thackeray, 
Dickens,  and  Miss  Yonge  were  the  gods  and  half  gods 
of  their  young  and  passionate  enthusiasm.  The  last, 
curiously  enough,  was  an  influence  as  potent  as  any. 
The  hero  other  novel  of  1853,  The  Heir  of  Redely jfe, 
was  the  pattern  chosen  by  Morris,  according  to  Mr. 
Mackail's  account,  to  build  himself  upon.  Singular 
as  it  seems  to-day  that  any  marked  impression  should 
have  been  made  upon  an  even  fairly  well-trained 
mind  by  a  writer  of  such  slight  literary  quality,  it  is 
true  that  the  author  of  The  Daisy  Chain  counted 
among  her  devoted  readers  men  of  brilliant  and 
dominant  intellectual  power.  She  had  the  lucky 
touch  to  kindle  in  young  minds  that  Are  of  sym- 
pathy with  which  they  greet  whatever  shows  them 
their  own  world,  their  age,  themselves  as  they  best 
like  to  see  them.  To  Morris  in  particular  the  young 
heir  of  Redclyffe  made  the  appeal  of  a  congenial 
temperament  in  a  position  similar  to  his  own.  Like 
Morris,  he  was  headstrong  and  passionate,  given 


®  If  orb  Xifc.  25 

to  excessive  bursts  of  rage  and  to  repentances  not  less 
excessive;  like  Morris,  he  united  to  his  natural  pride 
an  unnatural  and  slightly  obtrusive  humility;  like 
Morris,  he  was  rich  and  beautiful,  generous  and  lov- 
able. It  was  no  great  wonder  that  Morris,  poring 
with  his  characteristic  absorption  over  the  pleasant 
pages  on  which  Guy  Morville's  chivalrous  life  is  por- 
trayed, said  as  Dromio  to  Dromio,  ''Methinks  you 
are  my  glass  and  not  my  brother;  1  see  by  you  1  am 
a  sweet-faced  youth." 

Mr.  Mackail  notes  with  an  accent  of  surprise  that 
Kingsley  was  much  more  widely  read  than  Newman, 
thinking  the  choice  a  curious  one  in  the  case  of  pas- 
sionate Anglo-Catholics.  So  far  as  Morris  was  con- 
cerned, however,  there  was  little  enough  to  relish  in 
Newman's  subtle  theology  and  relentless  logic.  The 
man  to  whom  religion  as  a  mere  sentiment  was  ''a 
dream  and  a  mockery  "  could  hardly  appeal  to  one  to 
whom  all  life  was  a  sentiment.  Kingsley,  on  the 
other  hand,  although  he  was  anti-Catholic  in  temper, 
and  disposed  to  overthrow  the  illusions  by  which  such 
romanticists  as  Scott,  such  dreamers  as  Fouque,  had 
surrounded  the  Middle  Ages,  picturing  their  coarse 
and  barbarous  side  with  harsh  realism,  was  happy  in 
rendering  the  charms  of  outdoor  life  and  bold  adven- 
ture, and  the  songs  of  the  Crusaders  in  his  Saint's 
Tragedy  must  have  gone  farther  toward  winning 
Morris  than  pages  of  Newman's  reasoning  devotion. 
Gradually  the  monastic  ideal  faded  before  the 
brightness  of  art  and  literature  and  the  life  of  the 


26  Milltam  nOorris* 

world  as  these  became  more  and  more  impressed 
upon  Morris's  consciousness.  To  live  in  the  spirit 
and  in  the  region  of  purely  intellectual  interests  could 
not  have  been  his  choice  after  the  passing  of  the  first 
fanatic  impulse  of  youth  to  dedicate  itself  to  v/hat 
is  difficult,  ignorant  of  the  joy  of  choosing.  Many 
influences  united  to  determine  the  precise  form  into 
which  he  should  shape  the  future  that  for  all  practi- 
cal purposes  was  under  his  control.  His  interest  in 
pictorial  art  was  stimulated  by  Burne-Jones,  who 
was  already  making  fantastic  little  drawings,  and 
studies  of  flowers  and  foliage.  Of  great  art  he  knew 
nothing  until  he  spent  the  Long  Vacation  of  1854  in 
travelling  through  Belgium  and  Northern  France, 
where  he  saw  Van  Eyck  and  Memling,  who  at  once 
became  to  him,  as  they  were  to  Rossetti,  masters  of 
incontestable  supremacy.  On  this  trip  he  saw  also 
the  beautiful  churches  of  Amiens,  Beauvais,  and 
Chartres,  which  in  his  unbridled  expansiveness  of 
phrase  he  called  "the  grandest,  the  most  beautiful, 
the  kindest,  and  most  loving  of  all  the  buildings  that 
the  earth  has  ever  borne."  The  following  year  he 
repeated  the  experience,  with  Burne-Jones  and  Ful- 
ford  for  companions.  This  time  the  journey  was  to 
have  been  made  on  foot  from  motives  of  economy,  as 
Burne-Jones  was  poor  and  Morris  embraced  the  habits 
of  poverty  when  in  his  company  with  unaffected 
delicacy  of  feeling.  At  Amiens,  however,  Morris 
went  lame,  and,  "after  filling  the  streets  with  im- 
precations on  all  boot-makers,"  bought  a  pair  of  gay 


®  If  orb  Xife.  27 

carpet  slippers  in  which  to  continue  the  trip.  These 
proved  not  to  serve  the  purpose,  and  the  travellers 
were  obliged  to  reach  Chartres  by  the  usual  methods 
of  conveyance,  Morris  arguing  with  fury  and  futility 
in  favour  of  skirting  Paris,  ''even  by  two  days' jour- 
ney, so  as  not  to  see  the  streets  of  it."  They  had 
with  them  one  book,  Keats,  and  their  minds  were 
filled  with  the  poetic  ideas  of  art  as  the  expression 
of  man's  pleasure  in  his  toil,  and  of  beauty  as  the 
natural  and  necessary  accompaniment  of  productive 
labour,  which  Ruskin  had  been  preaching  in  The 
Stones  of  Venice  and  in  the  Edinburgh  lectures.  By 
this  time  they  had  become  acquainted  with  the  work 
of  the  Pre-Raphaelites,  and  Burne-Jones  had  an- 
nounced that  of  all  men  who  lived  on  earth  the  one 
he  wanted  to  see  was  Rossetti.  Morris  had  used 
his  spare  time,  of  which  we  may  imagine  he  had  a 
considerable  amount,  in  the  study  of  mediaeval  de- 
sign as  the  splendid  manuscripts  in  the  Bodleian 
Library  illustrate  it.  An  architectural  newspaper  also 
formed  part  of  his  regular  reading  outside  of  his 
studies.  Thus  primed  for  definite  action,  on  this 
holiday  filled  with  stimulating  interests  and  the 
delicious  freedom  of  roaming  quite  at  will  with 
the  best  of  companions  through  the  sweet  fertile 
country  of  Northern  France,  Morris  put  quite  aside 
all  aims  that  had  not  directly  to  do  with  art.  He 
and  Burne-Jones,  walking  late  one  night  on  the 
quays  of  Havre,  discussed  their  plans.  Both  gave 
up  once  and  for  all  the  idea  of  taking  orders;  both 


28  Milliam  riDorris. 

decided  to  leave  Oxford  as  quickly  as  they  could; 
both  were  to  be  artists,  Burne-Jones  a  painter  and 
Morris  an  architect. 

Although  Morris  was  never  to  become  a  practis- 
ing architect,  this  choice  of  a  profession  at  the 
beginning  of  his  career  is  both  characteristic  and 
significant.  Buildings,  as  we  have  seen,  had  inter- 
ested him  from  his  childhood.  His  favourite  excur- 
sions, long  and  short,  had  been  to  the  region  of 
churches.  In  the  art  of  building  he  saw  the  means 
of  elevating  all  the  tastes  of  man.  Architecture 
meant  to  him  "the  art  of  creating  a  building  with 
all  the  appliances  fit  for  carrying  on  a  dignified  and 
happy  life. "  It  seemed  to  him  even  at  the  outset,  be- 
fore the  word  "  socialism  "  had  come  into  his  vocabu- 
lary, incredible  that  people  living  in  pleasant  homes 
and  engaged  in  making  and  using  these  appliances 
of  which  he  speaks,  should  lead  lives  other  than 
dignified  and  happy.  It  was  much  more  in  accord- 
ance with  his  ideal  of  a  vocation,  a  ministry  to  man, 
that  he  should  contribute  to  the  daily  material  com- 
fort and  pleasure  of  the  world,  that  he  should  make 
places  good  for  the  body  to  live  in  and  fair  for  the 
eye  to  rest  upon,  and  therefore  soothing  to  the  soul, 
than  that  he  should  construct  abstract  spiritual  man- 
sions of  which  he  could  at  best  form  but  a  vague 
conception.  It  was,  then,  with  a  certain  sense  of 
dedication,  an  exchange  of  method  without  a  change 
of  spirit,  that  he  gave  up  the  thought  of  holy  orders 
and  turned  to  the  thought  of  furthering  the  good  of 


©ifort)  Xifc,  29 

mankind  by  working  toward  the  beauty  and  order 
of  the  visible  world. 

From  the  point  of  view  of  his  later  interests  as  a 
decorator  of  houses,  he  was  showing  the  utmost 
wisdom  in  beginning  with  the  framework,  which 
must  exist  before  any  decoration  can  be  applied. 
"\  have  spoken  of  the  popular  arts,"  he  says  him- 
self, in  one  of  his  lectures,  "but  they  might  all  be 
summed  up  in  that  one  word  Architecture;  they  are 
all  parts  of  that  great  whole,  and  the  art  of  house- 
building begins  it  all.  If  we  did  not  know  how  to 
dye  or  to  weave;  if  we  had  neither  gold  nor  silver 
nor  silk,  and  no  pigments  to  paint  with  but  half  a 
dozen  ochres  and  umbers,  we  might  yet  frame  a 
worthy  art  that  would  lead  to  everything,  if  we  had 
but  timber,  stone  and  lime,  and  a  few  cutting  tools 
to  make  these  common  things  not  only  shelter  us 
from  wind  and  weather  but  also  express  the  thoughts 
and  aspirations  that  stir  in  us.  Architecture  would 
lead  us  to  all  the  arts,  as  it  did  with  the  earlier  men; 
but  if  we  despise  it  and  take  no  note  of  how  we  are 
housed,  the  other  arts  will  have  a  hard  time  of  it 
indeed." 

And  again:  ''A  true  architectural  work,"  he  says, 
"is  a  building  duly  provided  with  all  the  necessary 
furniture,  decorated  with  all  due  ornament,  accord- 
ing to  the  use,  quality,  and  dignity  of  the  building, 
from  mere  mouldings  or  abstract  lines  to  the  great 
epical  works  of  sculpture  and  painting,  which  except 
as  decorations  of  the  nobler  form  of  such  buildings 


30  Milliam  flDorris. 

cannot  be  produced  at  all.  So  looked  upon,  a  work 
of  architecture  is  a  harmonious,  co-operative  work 
of  art,  inclusive  of  all  the  serious  arts — those  which 
are  not  engaged  in  the  production  of  mere  toys  or 
ephemeral  prettinesses." 

Morris  communicated  his  momentous  decision  to 
his  family  as  soon  as  it  was  made,  and  they  received 
it  with  amazement  and  distress.  While  their  origin 
was  not  especially  aristocratic,  their  tastes  ran  toward 
the  symbols  of  aristocracy.  When  Morris  was  nine 
years  old,  his  father  obtained  a  grant  of  arms  from  the 
Heralds'  College,  and  the  son  had  no  small  liking  for 
the  bearings  assigned  —  bearings  which  included  a 
horse's  head  erased  argent  between  three  horse- 
shoes. The  horse's  head  he  introduced  on  the  tiles 
and  glass  of  the  house  he  built  for  himself  in  later 
years,  and  he  was  in  the  habit  of  making  a  yearly 
pilgrimage  to  the  famous  White  Horse  of  the  Berk- 
shire Downs,  connecting  it  in  some  obscure  way 
with  his  ancestry.  In  England,  during  the  fifties, 
nothing  was  less  calculated  to  appeal  to  an  aristo- 
cratic tendency  than  any  form  of  art  considered  as  a 
profession.  In  The  Newcomes  Mr.  Honeyman  re- 
marks with  bland  dignity  to  his  aspiring  young 
relative;  "My  dear  Clive,  there  are  degrees  in  so- 
ciety which  we  must  respect.  You  surely  cannot 
think  of  being  a  professional  artist."  In  much  this 
spirit,  apparently,  Mrs.  Morris  received  her  son's 
announcement,  conveyed  in  a  long  and  affectionate 
letter  stating  in  detail  the  motives  that  had  led  him  to 


©ifort)  Xife.  31 

his  resolution.  After  defending  his  chosen  profession 
at  some  length,  calling  it  with  characteristic  avoidance 
of  pompous  phraseology,  "  a  useful  trade,"  he  dwells 
upon  the  moderation  of  his  hopes  and  expectations. 
He  does  not  hope  "  to  be  great  at  all  in  anything," 
but  thinks  he  may  look  forward  to  reasonable  happi- 
ness in  his  work.  It  will  be  grievous  to  his  pride 
and  self-will,  he  says,  to  have  to  do  just  as  he  is  told 
for  three  long  years,  but  "good  for  it,  too,"  and  he 
looks  forward  with  little  delight  to  the  drudgery  of 
learning  a  new  trade,  but  is  pretty  confident  of  suc- 
cess, and  is  happy  in  being  able  to  pay  *'the  pre- 
mium and  all  that "  without  laying  any  fresh  burden 
of  expense  upon  his  mother.  Finally  he  proposes 
taking  as  his  master  George  Edmund  Street,  who  was 
living  in  Oxford  as  architect  of  the  diocese,  and 
whose  enthusiasm  for  the  thirteenth  century  could 
hardly  have  failed  to  claim  the  sympathy  of  Morris. 
Certainly  it  seemed  precisely  the  fitting  opportunity 
that  offered.  There  could  have  been  no  better  mo- 
ment for  him  to  follow  the  advice  he  so  frequently 
gave  to  others— to  turn  his  back  upon  an  ugly  age, 
choose  the  epoch  that  suited  him  best,  and  identify 
himself  with  that.  Gothic  to  the  core,  he  had  come 
to  Oxford,  not,  as  Mr.  Day  has  suggested,  to  catch 
the  infection  of  mediievalism  abroad  there,  but  to 
assimilate  and  thrive  upon  all  the  influences  to  which 
his  independently  mediaeval  spirit  was  acutely  suscep- 
tible. Scott,  Pugin,  Shaw,  ViolIet-le-Duc,  had  broken 
the  way  through  popular  prejudice,  and  Street  was 


32  MilUatn  flDorris, 

engaged  at  the  time  Morris  went  to  him  in  the  work 
of  restoring  ancient  churches  and  designing  Gothic 
buildings.  "  Restoration  "  had  not  then  so  evil  a 
sound  to  Morris  as  it  later  came  to  have.  Some 
thirty  years  after,  he  was  to  say:  '*No  man  or 
no  body  of  men,  however  learned  they  may  be  in 
ancient  art,  whatever  skill  in  design  or  love  of  beauty 
they  may  have,  can  persuade,  or  bribe,  or  force  our 
workmen  of  to-day  to  do  their  work  in  the  same  way 
as  the  workmen  of  King  Edward  1.  did  theirs.  Wake 
up  Theodoric  the  Goth  from  his  sleep  of  centuries 
and  place  him  on  the  throne  of  Italy,  turn  our 
modern  House  of  Commons  into  the  Witenagemote 
(or  Meeting  of  the  Wise  Men)  of  King  Alfred  the 
Great! — no  less  a  feat  is  the  restoration  of  an  ancient 
building."  In  1855,  however,  he  had  not  fully 
arrived  at  this  conviction,  it  was  then  the  period 
of  "  fresh  hope  and  partial  insight  "  which,  regarding 
it  retrospectively,  he  says,  "  produced  many  interest- 
ing buildings  and  other  works  of  art,  and  afforded  a 
pleasant  time  indeed  to  the  hopeful  but  very  small 
minority  engaged  in  it,  in  spite  of  all  vexations  and 
disappointments."  There  seemed  no  reason  to  sup- 
pose that,  helped  as  he  was  by  his  predilections 
and  by  his  environment,  he  could  not  become  the 
master-builder  of  the  house  beautiful  that  constantly 
haunted  his  imagination. 

He  was  not  to  begin  at  once,  however.  In  defer- 
ence to  his  mother's  wish  he  went  through  his  final 
term,  passed  in  the  Final  Schools  without  difficulty, 


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CONDUCTED  BY  :\IKMIii:KS  OF  THE 
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CONTEXTS. 

Siu  Piiuii'  Sii,m:y.     1'akt  I.     Tin;  PiiKi.rDF. 
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lisSAY  ON  THE  NE\V((..\rt:s  

Ki.NT.si.Kv's  Sermons  for  the  Times           .         . 
■WiNTKR  AVeather.     a  Poem 


1 

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TITLE-PAGE  OF  "  THE  OXFORD  AND  CAMBRIDGE  MAGAZINE  " 


®Ifor^  Xifc.  33 

and,  together  with  his  companions — The  Brother- 
hood as  they  now  called  themselves, — gave  distinc- 
tion to  his  last  year  at  the  University,  where  despite 
all  drawbacks  he  had  been  aboundingly  happy,  by 
founding  the  since  famous  little  Oxford  ami  Cam- 
bridge Maga:(ine. 

Like  the  Pre-Raphaelite  Germ,  this  periodical 
aimed  at  an  unusually  high  standard.  It  was  printed 
at  the  Chiswick  Press  with  some  pretensions  to  typo- 
graphical beauty.  Each  number  had  upon  its  title- 
page  an  ornamental  heading  designed  by  one  of 
Charles  Whittingham's  daughters  and  engraved  by 
Mary  Byheld.  On  the  green  wrappers  the  name  of 
the  magazine  was  printed  in  the  old-fashioned  type 
which  the  Chiswick  Press  was  the  first  to  revive,  and 
although,  unlike  The  Germ,  it  was  not  illustrated, 
photographs  of  Woolner's  medallions  of  Carlyle  and 
Tennyson  were  mounted  to  bind  with  it  and  sold  at 
a  shilling  apiece  to  subscribers.  The  price  of  each 
number  was  also  a  shilling,  and  twelve  monthly 
numbers  appeared,  making  it  thrice  as  long  lived  as 
its  prototype,  The  Germ.  The  financial  responsi- 
bility, says  Mr.  Mackail,  was  undertaken  wholly  by 
Morris,  and  he  at  first  attempted  the  general  control. 
This  he  was  soon  glad  to  relinquish,  paying  a  salary 
of  a  hundred  pounds  a  year  to  his  editor.  The  title, 
which  in  full  read  The  Oxford  and  Cambridge  Maga- 
zine, Conducted  by  Members  of  the  Two  Universities, 
indicates  rather  more  co-operation  than  existed,  the 
magazine  being  conducted  entirely  by  Oxford  men 


34  MilUam  riDorne, 

and  fully  two-thirds  written  by  them.  The  tone  of 
the  contributions  was  to  be  impeccable.  "it  is 
unanimously  agreed,"  wrote  Price,  *'  that  there  is  to 
be  no  shewing  off,  no  quips,  no  sneers,  no  lampoon- 
ing in  our  Magazine."  Politics  were  to  be  almost 
eschewed,  "Tales,  Poetry,  friendly  Critiques,  and 
social  articles  "  making  up  the  body  of  the  text. 

First  among  the  contributors  in  quantity  and  regu- 
larity of  supply  was  Morris.  During  his  second  year 
at  the  University  he  had  discovered  that  he  could 
write  poetry,  and  had  communicated  the  fact  to  his 
companions  without  loss  of  time.  Canon  Dixon, 
recalling  the  very  thrilling  occasion  of  his  reading  his 
first  poem  to  the  group  gathered  in  the  old  Exeter 
rooms  occupied  by  Burne-Jones,  affirms  that  he 
reached  his  perfection  at  once,  that  nothing  could 
have  been  altered  for  the  better,  and  also  quotes  him 
as  saying,  "  Well,  if  this  is  poetry,  it  is  very  easy  to 
write."  He  was  not  one  to  let  a  capability  fust  in 
him  unused.  Poetry  and  prose,  equally  easy  to  him, 
poured  after  this  from  his  pen,  giving  expression  with 
some  confusion  and  incoherence  to  his  boyish 
raptures  over  the  things  he  best  loved  and  most 
thought  about.  During  the  twelve  months  of  the 
magazine's  life  he  contributed  to  it  five  poems,  eight 
prose  tales,  a  review  of  Browning's  Men  and  Women, 
and  two  special  articles,  one  on  a  couple  of  engrav- 
ings by  Alfred  Bethel  and  one  on  the  Cathedral  at 
Amiens.  In  all  this  early  work,  filled  with  super- 
abundant imagery,  self-conscious,  sensuous,  unsub- 


®  If  orb  %XtC.  35 

stantial,  pictorial,  we  have  Morris  the  writer  as  he 
was  at  the  beginning  and  much  as  he  was  again  at 
the  end.  His  first  strange  little  romances  pass  before 
the  eyes  as  his  late  ones  do,  like  strips  of  beautiful 
fabric,  deeply  dyed  with  colours  both  dim  and  rich, 
and  printed  with  faintly  outlined  figures  in  postures 
illustrating  the  dreamy  events  of  dreamy  lives. 
Many  of  the  pages  echo  with  the  sound  of  trumpets 
and  the  clash  of  arms,  but  the  echo  is  from  so  far 
away  that  the  heart  of  the  reader  declines  to  leap. 
Passionate  emotions  are  portrayed  in  passionate 
language.  Men  and  women  love  and  die  with  wild 
adventure.  Splendid  sacrifices  are  made,  and  dark 
revenges  taken.  But  the  effect  is  of  marionettes,  ad- 
mirably costumed  and  ingeniously  managed  yet  in- 
evitably suggesting  artifice  and  failing  to  suggest  life. 
Nevertheless  Morris  wrote  in  the  fashion  commonly 
supposed  to  impart  vitality  if  nothing  else  to  com- 
position. He  sat  up  late  of  nights,  after  the  manner 
of  young  writers,  and  let  his  words  stand  as  they 
fell  hot  and  unpremeditated  on  the  page.  The  labour 
of  learning  the  art,  as  his  favourite,  Keats,  learned  it, 
by  indefatigable  practice  in  finding  the  perfect  word, 
the  one  exquisite  phrase,  was  quite  outside  his 
method.  As  long  as  he  lived,  he  preferred  rewriting 
to  revising  a  manuscript.  The  austerity  of  mind  that 
leads  to  impatience  of  supertluous  colour  or  tone,  and 
that  dreads  as  the  plague  supertluous  sentiment,  was 
foreign  to  him,  nor  did  he  ever  acquire  it  as  even 
the    Epicurean    temperament    may    do    by  ardent 


36  Milliam  nDorrie. 

self-restraint.  In  most  of  the  romances  and  poems  the 
scene  is  laid  somewhat  vaguely  but  unmistakably  in 
the  Middle  Ages.  We  rarely  surprise  the  young  writer 
in  a  date,  but  the  atmosphere  is  that  of  the  thirteenth 
century  though  with  many  thirteenth-century  char- 
acteristics left  out.  The  incidents  appeal  to  what 
Bagehot  calls  "that  kind  of  boyish  fancy  which 
idolises  mediaeval  society  as  the  'lighting  time.'  " 
The  distinction  lies  in  the  fertility  and  beauty  of  the 
descriptions.  On  nearly  every  page  is  some  passage 
that  has  the  quality  of  a  picture.  In  The  Hollow 
Land,  in  Gerthas  Lovers,  in  Svend  and  his  Brethren, 
and  especially  in  the  article  on  the  Amiens  Cathedral, 
are  exquisite  landscapes  and  backgrounds  against 
which  the  personages  group  themselves  with  perfect 
fittingness.  *'  1  must  paint  Gertha  before  I  die,"  said 
Burne-Jones,  after  Morris  himself  was  dead,  recalling 
the  charm  of  this  story  which  was  written  in  his 
company,  under  the  willows  by  the  riverside.  "The 
opening  and  the  closing  sentences  always  invited  me 
in  an  indescribable  way,  but  the  motwQ par  excellence 
was  that  of  Gertha  after  death,  in  the  chapter  enti- 
tled '  What  Edith  the  Handmaiden  Saw  from  the  War 
Saddle,' where  the  beautiful  queen  lies  on  the  battle- 
field with  the  blue  speedwell  about  her  pale  f^ice,  while 
a  soft  wind  rustles  the  sunset-lit  aspens  overhead." 
To  his  genius  for  evoking  a  scene  from  mem- 
ory or  imagination  with  a  grace  and  delicacy  miss- 
ing in  the  designs  he  was  later  to  make  with 
tools  more  rebellious  than  words,   Morris  added  a 


Portrait  of  Rossetti 

By  Watts 


j^j^  ^^L^^;^^- 


Qxtovb  Xifc.  37 

singular  ability  to  convey  to  his  readers  the  most 
significant  quality  of  what  he  admired,  to  impress 
them  with  the  feature  that  had  most  impressed  him. 
The  fancy  for  gold,  inspired  perhaps  by  study  of 
mediaeval  illumination,  runs  like  a  glittering  thread 
through  the  story  of  Sveiid  and  his  Brethren. 
Cissela's  gold  hair,  her  crown  of  gold,  the  golden 
ring  she  breaks  with  her  lover,  the  gold  cloth  over 
which  she  walks  across  the  trampled  battle-field,  the 
samite  of  purple  wrought  with  gold  stars,  the  golden 
letters  on  the  sword-blade,— all  these  recur  like  so 
many  bright  accents  from  which  the  attention  cannot 
escape.  Again,  in  the  description  of  Amiens  Ca- 
thedral, we  get  from  simple  verbal  repetition  the 
effect  of  massive  modelling,  the  sense  of  weight  in 
the  design  as  Morris  felt  it  in  one  of  the  sculptured 
figures  of  the  niches  :  "  A  stately  figure  with  a  king's 
crown  on  his  head,  and  hair  falling  in  three  waves 
over  his  shoulders;  a  very  kingly  face  looking  straight 
onward;  a  great  jewelled  collar  falling  heavily  to  his 
elbows:  his  right  hand  holding  a  heavy  sceptre 
formed  of  many  budding  fiowers,  and  his  left  just 
touching  in  front  the  folds  of  his  raiment  that  falls 
heavily,  very  heavily  to  the  ground  over  his  feet. 
Saul,  King  of  Israel."  In  another  passage  describing 
with  minute  detail  the  figures  of  the  Virgin  and  Child, 
a  similar  emphasis  is  laid  on  the  quality  of  restful- 
ness.  ''The  two  figures  are  very  full  of  rest;  every- 
thing about  them  expresses  it  from  the  broad 
forehead  of  the  Virgin,  to  the  resting  of  the  feet  of 


38  Milliam  flDorne* 

the  Child  (who  is  almost  self-balanced)  in  the  fold 
of  the  robe  that  she  holds  gently,  to  the  falling  of  the 
quiet  lines  of  her  robe  over  her  feet,  to  the  resting  of 
its  folds  between  them."  And  if  the  effect  to  be 
rendered  is  one  of  colour,  a  touch  of  finer  eloquence 
is  added  to  this  somewhat  crude  method.  The  final 
passage  of  the  account  of  the  great  Cathedral  is  a 
genuine  triumph  of  poetic  observation,  carrying  the 
fancy  of  the  reader  lightly  over  the  silvery  loveliness 
of  the  picture  as  it  lay  before  the  boy  enraptured  by 
it:  "  And  now,  farewell  to  the  church  that  I  love,  to 
the  carved  temple-mountain  that  rises  so  high  above 
the  water-meadows  of  the  Somme,  above  the  grey 
roofs  of  the  good  town.  Farewell  to  the  sweep  of 
the  arches,  up  from  the  bronze  bishops  lying  at  the 
west  end,  up  to  the  belt  of  solemn  windows,  where, 
through  the  painted  glass,  the  light  comes  solemnly. 
Farewell  to  the  cavernous  porches  of  the  west  front, 
so  grey  under  the  fading  August  sun,  grey  with  the 
wind-storms,  grey  with  the  rain-storms,  grey  with 
the  beat  of  many  days'  sun,  from  sunrise  to  sunset; 
showing  white  sometimes,  too,  when  the  sun  strikes 
it  strongly;  snowy-white,  sometimes,  when  the 
moon  is  on  it,  and  the  shadows  growing  blacker; 
but  grey  now,  fretted  into  deeper  grey,  fretted  into 
black  by  the  mitres  of  the  bishops,  by  the  solemn 
covered  heads  of  the  prophets,  by  the  company  of 
the  risen,  and  the  long  robes  of  the  judgment-angels 
by  hell-mouth  and  its  flames  gaping  there,  and  the 
devils  that  feed  it;  by  the  saved  souls  and  the  crown- 


Qxtovtf  Xlfe.  39 

ing  angels;  by  the  presence  of  the  Judge,  and  by  the 
roses  growing  above  them  all  forever." 

The  review  of  Browning's  Men  and  Women,  then 
recently  published,  is  more  valuable  as  testifying  to 
the  impression    produced    by   Browning   upon   his 
young  contemporary,  than  for  any  especial  illumina- 
tion it  throws  upon  the  poems  themselves.     Brown- 
ing was  popular  with  the  students  of  Oxford  long 
before  he  gained  his  wider  audience,  and  although 
Morris  did  not  follow  him  far  in  his  investigation  of 
the  human  soul  and  came  heartily  to  dislike  ''his 
constant  dwelling  on  sin  and  probing  of  the  secrets 
of  the  heart,"  he  placed  him  at  the  time  of  writing 
his  criticism  ''  high  among  the  poets  of  all  time  "  and 
he  ''hardly  knew  whether  first  or  second  in  our 
own,"  and  his  defence  of  him,  bristling  with  ejacu- 
lations, and  couched  in  boyish  phrases,  shows  in 
part  a  more  than  boyish  divination.     "  It  does  not 
help  poems  much  to  solve  them,"  he  says,  after  what, 
in  truth,  is  a  somewhat  disastrous  attempt  to  inter- 
pret the  meaning  of  IVomen  and  Roses,  "because 
there  are  in  poems  so  many  exquisitely  small  and  deli- 
cate turns  of  thought  running  through  their  music,  and 
along  with  it,  that  cannot  be  done  into  prose,  any 
more  than  the  infinite  variety  of  form,  and  shadow, 
and  colour  in  a  great  picture  can  be  rendered  by  a 
coloured  woodcut."    It  was  "  a  bitter  thing"  to  him 
to  see  the  way  in  which  the  poet  had  been  received 
by  "almost  everybody,"  and  he  assured  his  little 
world    that  what   the    critics    called   obscurity  in 


40  Milliam  riDorris. 

Browning's  poems  resulted  from  depth  of  thought 
and  greatness  of  subject  on  the  poet's  part,  and  on 
his  readers"  part,  "from  their  shallower  brains  and 
more  bounded  knowledge,"  if  not  indeed  from 
''mere  wanton  ignorance  and  idleness,"  and  to  this 
kind  of  obscurity  one  had  little  right  to  object.  It 
was  the  first  tilt  in  the  lists,  the  beginning  of  the 
long  combat  against  the  Philistines  upon  which 
Morris  entered  with  high  resolve  and  firm  convic- 
tion, which  he  lustily  enjoyed,  and  in  which  despite 
many  a  broken  lance  he  bore  himself  as  a  bold  and 
skilful  knight. 

In  the  little  tale  called  The  Hollow  Laud,  written 
for  the  magazine  just  before  it  "  went  to  smash,"  to 
use  Burne-jones's  expressive  phrase,  an  amusingly 
significant  sentence  occurs:  "Then  I  tried  to  learn 
painting,"  says  the  hero,  "till  1  thought  1  should  die, 
but  at  last  learned  through  very  much  pain  and 
grief."  Here  it  is  not  diftkult  to  recognise  an  auto- 
biographic touch.  Painting  was  already  beginning 
to  beckon  Morris  away  from  the  profession  he  had 
so  recently  chosen.  At  the  end  of  i8s5,  during  the 
Christmas  vacation,  and  just  before  Morris  entered 
Street's  office,  Burne-Jones  had  made  a  visit  to 
London,  where  at  a  monthly  meeting  at  the  Work- 
ing Men's  College  he  for  the  first  time  saw  Rossetti, 
and  later  heard  him  rend  in  pieces  the  opinions  of 
those  who  differed  with  him,  and  stoutly  support 
his  infrangible  theory  that  all  men  should  be  paint- 
ers.    How  ready  Burne-jones  was  to  yield  himself 


©xforb  Xife.  41 

to  this  potent  influence,  how  promptly  Rossetti's 
vivid  and  original  temperament  acted  upon  his 
admirer,  is  clear  from  the  latter's  description,  written 
many  years  after,  of  the  flrst  encounter— the  young 
undergraduate  sitting  half-frightened,  embarrassed 
and  worshipping,  among  strangers,  eating  thick 
bread  and  butter,  and  listening  to  speeches  about  the 
progress  of  the  college,  until  the  entrance  of  his  idol, 
whose  sensitive,  gentle,  indolent  face,  with  its  flick- 
ering of  humour  and  the  Are  of  genius,  entirely  satis- 
fied his  poetic  imagination.  The  great  qualities  of 
Rossetti  in  those  days  revealed  themselves  in  his 
face,  and  his  imperious  will  and  keen  intellect  were 
no  less  obvious  in  his  talk.  Burne-Jones  returned  to 
Oxford  with  the  idea  of  dedicating  himself  to  art 
more  than  ever  firmly  fixed  in  his  mind.  Rossetti 
had  approved  the  drawings  which  he  had  brought  to 
him  for  consideration,  and  had  pronounced  the  seven 
months  still  to  elapse  before  he  could  take  his  degree 
time  too  valuable  to  waste  outside  of  art,  counselling 
him  to  fling  the  University  and  all  its  works  behind 
him  and  begin  painting  at  once.  With  mingled  de- 
light and  terror  Burne-Jones,  in  spite  of  small  means 
and  weak  health,  followed  his  leader,  who,  however 
rash  to  advise,  was  not  one  to  neglect  his  charge, 
and  who  worked  loyally  to  bring  him  through  with 
triumph,  criticising,  teaching,  approving,  encoura- 
ging without  stint,  and  presently,  after  his  own  in- 
imitable fashion,  bringing  patrons  to  him,  bidding 
them  buy,  which  obediently  they  did. 


42  Milliam  riDorrie, 

It  was  inevitable  that  Morris  should  be  stirred  to 
emulation  by  this  step  on  the  part  of  his  friend. 
After  Burne-jones  went  to  London  to  begin  painting 
under  Rossetti's  direction,  Morris  spent  nearly  all  his 
Sundays  with  him  at  his  lodgings  in  Chelsea.  These 
holidays  were  full  of  excitement.  It  was  a  glorious 
little  world  that  opened  out  under  Rossetti's  en- 
thusiastic, dogmatic,  and  continuous  talk  and  argu- 
ment. Morris  was  deeply  impressed  by  his  notion 
that  everyone  should  be  a  painter,  and  after  Street 
moved  his  office  to  London  and  Morris  and  Burne- 
Jones  took  lodgings  together,  the  former  tried  the 
characteristic  experiment  of  combining  painting  with 
architecture,  attempting  to  get  six  hours  a  day  at  his 
drawing  in  addition  to  his  office  work.  It  is  inter- 
esting to  find  him  writing  at  this  juncture  that  he 
cannot  enter  into  politico-social  subjects  with  any 
interest,  that  things  are  in  a  muddle  and  that  he  has 
no  power  to  set  them  right  in  the  smallest  degree, 
that  his  work  is  the  embodiment  of  dreams  in  one 
form  or  another.  What  Rossetti  thought  of  his  two 
disciples  is  seen  in  a  letter  written  by  him  to  Wil- 
liam Allingham  in  December,  1856,  when  Morris  had 
been  nearly  a  year  with  Street.  He  found  both 
"wonders  after  their  kind."  "Jones  is  doing  de- 
signs which  quite  put  one  to  shame,"  he  wrote,  "  so 
full  are  they  of  everything — Aurora  Leighs  of  art. 
He  will  take  the  lead  in  no  time."  Morris  he 
deemed  "one  of  the  finest  little  fellows  alive — with 
a  touch  of  the  incoherent,  but  a  real  man,"  and  "  in 


ILLUSTRATION    BY    ROSSETTI   TO   "THE   LADY  OF  SHALOTT"    IN    1  HE 

MOXON   "TENNYSON."     THE  HEAD  OF  LAUNCELOT  IS 

A  PORTRAIT  OF   MORRIS 


©xforb  Xife.  43 

all  illumination  and  work  of  that  kind  "  he  con- 
sidered him  quite  unrivalled  by  anything  modern 
that  he  knew.  With  a  guide  thus  confident  and 
inspiring,  it  is  not  strange  that  Morris  presently 
yielded  to  the  spell,  and  renounced  architecture  to 
pursue  painting  as  an  end  and  aim  in  itself,  although, 
like  the  hero  of  his  romance,  he  learned  with  much 
pain  and  grief. 

Rossetti's  service  to  Morris  is  difficult  to  estimate. 
For  a  brief  period  his  influence  over  him  was  su- 
preme. Perhaps  in  the  work  and  temper  of  this 
Italian,  Morris  saw  more  deeply  into  the  heart  of  the 
medi:^val  world  than  all  his  churches  and  illumi- 
nated manuscripts  could  help  him  to  see.  At  all 
events,  he  was  for  the  time  close  to  genius  and 
dominated  by  it.  His  devotion  to  his  master  par- 
took of  the  violence  inseparable  from  his  tempera- 
ment. He  was  soon  ready  to  say,  when  Burne-Jones 
complained  that  he  worked  better  in  Rossetti's  man- 
ner than  in  his  own:  'M  have  got  beyond  that;  I 
want  to  imitate  Gabriel  as  much  as  1  can."  But  he 
was  never  to  be  for  very  long  under  any  personal 
influence.  Nor  could  he  be  persuaded  by  the  most 
brilliant  eloquence  in  the  world  that  good  could  be 
got  out  of  doing  what  he  did  not  enjoy;  and  he 
never  enjoyed  any  labour  that  required  long  patience 
and  persistent  concentration  of  effort.  Without  be- 
ing flckle,  his  mind  was  so  restless  as  to  produce  the 
effect  of  fickleness  and  to  preclude  the  possibility  of 
his  doing  really  great  work.     While  he  was  trying, 


44  Milliam  (TDorris. 

under  Rossetti's  stimulating  but  peremptory  rule,  to 
master  a  painter's  methods  he  became  gloomy  and 
despondent.  "How  long  Rossetti's  daily  influence 
might  have  kept  him  labouring  at  what  he  could 
not  do,"  writes  Mr.  Mackail  with  a  tinge  of  bitter- 
ness, "when  there  was  work  all  round  that  he  could 
do,  on  the  whole,  better  than  any  man  living,  it  is 
needless  to  inquire."  But  that  Rossetti  did  manage 
to  keep  him  for  a  couple  of  years  at  the  study  of 
painting  cannot  be  counted  a  misfortune.  Probably 
that  experience,  together  with  his  brief  term  under 
Street,  did  as  much  as  anything  to  save  his  design 
from  mediocrity  and  imitativeness.  He  did  not  make 
himself  an  architect,  and  he  never  learned  to  draw 
anything  that  remotely  resembled  the  actual  struc- 
ture of  the  human  form,  but  he  must  have  gained 
through  his  study  some  knowledge  of  the  inviolable 
laws  of  art  that  he  could  not  have  gained  by  passive 
observation  however  keen,  or  by  sympathy  however 
ardent.  Rossetti  can  hardly  have  been  the  best 
master  for  him.  His  own  nature  was  too  undisci- 
plined, and  he  had  as  few  of  the  academic  virtues  as 
any  man  on  record  of  the  same  technical  ability. 
But  his  was  the  supreme  faculty  of  rousing  en- 
thusiasm. It  may  be  doubted  whether  any  other 
painter  in  England  could  have  kept  Morris  at  the 
appointed  and  impossible  task  for  so  long  a  time.  It 
is  easy  to  imagine  how  the  impatient  spirit  of  the 
latter  rebelled  against  the  slow  process  of  learning  to 
draw  the  human  figure  in  its  complicated  and  subtle 


Qxtov^  Xifc.  45 

beauty  ot  construction  and  surface.  The  fact  that 
he  stopped  so  f^ir  short  of  satisfactory  accomplish- 
ment seems  to  account  for  many  of  the  defects  to  be 
found  in  his  later  designs,  which  at  their  best  were 
never  to  be  entirely  beautiful,  though  full  of  zest  and 
freedom.  His  tendency  to  drop  any  branch  of  his 
work  as  soon  as  it  became  tedious  to  him,  to  turn  to 
something  else,  kept  his  creative  impulse  continually 
fresh  and  effective;  but  kept  him  also  from  achieving 
the  penetrating  distinction  of  artistic  self-possession. 
Whatever  helped  him  in  any  degree  toward  this  self- 
possession,  whatever  he  got  in  the  way  of  discipline 
of  mind  and  hand,  should  be  acknowledged  by  his 
admirers  with  gratitude,  and  it  is  but  just  to  recog- 
nise in  Rossetti  the  one  man  who  seems  to  have 
kept  the  prodigious  impetuosity  of  Morris  down 
without  promptly  losing  hold  upon  his  interest. 
Add  to  this  the  clear  vision  of  a  romantic  ideal 
which  all  who  worked  with  Rossetti  were  privileged 
to  share,  and  the  constant  inspiration  of  the  drama 
of  sentiment  and  emotion  rendered  in  his  colour  and 
line  and  in  his  exotic  treatment  of  form,  and  we 
must  own  that  nowhere  else  could  Morris  have 
found  such  food  for  an  imagination  already  quick- 
ened by  influences  reaching  it  from  a  remote  time 
and  an  alien  world.  Nowhere  else  could  he  have 
come  so  close  to  the  concealed  mysteries  of  the 
human  soul,  despite  the  disillusionment  he  was 
bound  to  feel  in  daily  contact  with  a  character  as 
contradictory  as  it  was  compelling. 


CHAPTER  III. 
FROM  ROSSETTI  TO  THE  RED  HOUSE. 


ALTHOUGH  a  blight  of  discouragement  seems 
to  have  fallen  upon  Morris  under  Rossetti's 
tuition,  there  were  some  blithe  compensa- 
tions. Not  the  least  of  these  was  the  fitting  up  of 
the  rooms  at  17  Red  Lion  Square  where  he  and 
Burne-Jones  took  quarters.  ''Topsy  and  1  live  to- 
gether," wrote  Burne-Jones,  "in  the  quaintest  room 
in  all  London,  hung  with  brasses  of  old  knights  and 
drawings  of  Albert  Durer. "  For  the  furniture,  Morris, 
who,  Rossetti  said,  was  "bent  on  doing  the  mag- 
nificent," made  designs  to  be  carried  out  in  deal  by 
a  carpenter  of  the  neighbourhood.  Everything  was 
very  large  and  heavy,  intensely  mediaeval,  and  doubt- 
less rather  ugly  in  an  honest  fashion,  but  in  the  end 
it  was  furniture  to  be  coveted,  for  it  offered  great 
spaces  for  decoration,  and  Rossetti  as  well  as  Morris 
and  Burne-Jones  painted  on  it  subjects  from  Chaucer 
and  Dante  and  the  Arthurian  stories.  The  panels 
of  a  cupboard  glowed  with  Rossetti's  beautiful  pict- 
ures representing   Dante  and   Beatrice  meeting  in 

46 


jfrom  IRoseetti  to  tbc  IRcb  Ibousc.        47 

Florence  and  meeting  in  Paradise,  and  on  the  wide 
backs  of  the  chairs  he  painted  scenes  from  some  of 
the  poems  Morris  had  written.  The  wardrobe  was 
decorated  by  Burne-Jones  with  paintings  from  The 
Prioress's  Tale.  On  the  walls  of  the  room  were 
hung,  no  doubt,  the  several  water-colours  bought 
from  Rossetti,  to  the  lovely  names  of  which  Morris 
promptly  wrote  ballads.  An  owl  was  co-tenant  with 
the  young  artists,  and  they  were  served  and  also 
criticised  by  a  housemaid  of  literary  ambitions.  In 
this  highly  individual  apartment,  where,  curiously 
enough,  Rossetti  and  his  friend  Deverell  had  had 
their  studio  together  five  or  six  years  before,  life  was 
not  all  labour  and  striving.  There  were,  moreover, 
holidays  spent  at  the  Zoological  Gardens,  evenings 
at  the  theatre,  night-long  sessions  in  Rossetti's  rooms, 
and  excursions  on  the  Thames.  One  of  the  latter  is 
vividly  described  in  Dr.  Birkbeck  Hill's  Letters  of 
Gabriel  Rossetti  to  IVilliam  Allingham,  giving  a  joy- 
ous picture  of  Morris  at  the  mercy  of  his  ungovernable 
temper.  The  party,  consisting  of  Hill,  Morris,  and 
Faulkner,  had  started  out  to  row  down  the  Thames 
from  Oxford  to  a  London  suburb.  By  the  time  they 
had  reached  Henley  they  had  spent  all  their  money 
except  enough  for  Faulkner's  return  ticket  to  Oxford, 
where  he  was  to  attend  a  college  meeting.  For  this 
he  departed,  promising  to  bring  back  a  supply  of 
money  in  the  evening.  "The  weather  was  unusu- 
ally hot,"  writes  Dr.  Hill,  ''Morris  and  I  sauntered 
along  the  river-side.     I  have  not  forgotten  the  longing 


48  MilUam  riDorns. 

glances  he  cast  on  a  large  basket  of  strawberries. 
He  had  always  been  so  plentifully  supplied  with 
money  that  he  bore  with  far  greater  impatience  than 
I  did  this  privation.  At  last  the  shadows  had  grown 
long  and  the  heat  was  more  bearable.  We  went 
with  light  hearts  to  the  railway  station  to  meet  our 
comrade.  '  Well,  Faulkner,'  cried  out  Morris,  cheer- 
fully, '  how  much  money  have  you  brought  ?  '  Our 
friend  gave  a  start.  'Good  heavens,'  he  replied,  'I 
forgot  all  about  it.'  Morris  thrust  both  his  hands 
into  his  long  dark  curly  hair,  tugged  at  it  wildly, 
ground  his  teeth,  swore  like  a  trooper,  and  stamped 
up  and  down  the  platform  —  in  fact,  behaved  just 
like  Sinbad's  captain  when  he  found  that  his  ship 
was  driving  upon  the  rocks.  His  outbursts  of  rage, 
1  hasten  to  say,  were  always  harmless.  They  left  no 
sullenness  behind,  and  as  each  rapidly  passed  away 
he  was  ready  to  join  in  a  hearty  laugh  at  it.  Faulk- 
ner, who  was  not  the  most  patient  of  men,  noticed 
that  passengers,  station-master,  porters,  engine- 
driver,  and  stoker  were  all  gazing  in  astonishment. 
He,  too,  lost  his  temper,  and,  though  in  a  far  lower 
key,  stormed  back.  Morris  soon  quieted  down,  and 
a  council  of  war  was  held.  He  fortunately  had  a 
gold  watch-chain  on  which  he  raised  enough  to  pay 
all  needful  expenses.  I  remember  well  how  the  rest 
of  our  journey  we  rowed  by  many  a  tavern  on  the 
bank  as  effectually  constrained  as  ever  was  Ulysses 
not  to  listen  to  its  siren  call.  It  was  through  no 
earthly  paradise  that  the  young  poet  and  artist  passed 


jfrom  IRossctti  to  tbc  IRcb  Ibousc.        49 

on  the  afternoon  of  our  last  day. "  When  they  landed 
they  had  just  a  penny  among  them,  and  were  still 
some  six  or  seven  miles  from  their  destination,  so  they 
were  obliged  to  hire  a  cab  and  trust  to  good  fortune 
for  not  coming  to  a  turnpike  gate  before  arriving  at 
Red  Lion  Square. 

About  this  time  also  Rossetti  and  Morris  made  an 
excursion  to  Oxford  for  the  purpose  of  visiting  Ben- 
jamin Woodward,  the  architect  and  Rossetti 's  friend. 
Mr.  Woodward  had  recently  erected  a  building  for 
the  Oxford  Union,  a  society  composed  of  past  and 
present  members  of  the  University.  In  exhibiting 
the  building  to  Rossetti  it  was  suggested  that  the 
blank  stretch  of  wall  which  ran  around  the  top  of  the 
Debating  Room  afforded  an  admirable  opportunity 
for  decoration,  and  Rossetti  with  prompt  enthusiasm 
evolved  a  plan  for  a  cooperative  enterprise.  He  and 
Morris,  with  several  other  willing  spirits,  —  Burne- 
Jones,  of  course,  Arthur  Hughes,  Valentine  Prinsep, 
Spencer  Stanhope,  and  J.  Hungerford  Pollen,  —  were 
to  go  up  to  Oxford  in  a  body.  Each  was  to  choose  a 
subject  from  the  Morte  d' Arthur,  and  execute  it  to  the 
best  of  his  ability  on  the  walls  of  the  Debating  Room. 
The  whole  affair  was  to  be  a  matter  of  a  few  weeks. 
The  artists  offered  their  services  for  nothing ;  their 
expenses  (which  turned  out  to  be  as  free  as  their 
offer)  were  to  be  paid  by  the  Union,  it  is  easy  to 
imagine  the  ensuing  bustle  and  ardour.  Rossetti 
eagerly  managing,  Morris  delighted  with  the  charm- 
ingly mediaeval  situation, —  a  few  humble  painters 


50  MilUam  flDorris. 

working  together  piously,  witiiout  hope  of  glory  or 
thought  of  gain,  — the  others  following  their  leader 
with  lamb-like  docility.  Had  their  knowledge  of 
methods  been  equal  to  their  zeal,  the  walls  of  the 
Debating  Room  must  have  become  the  loveliest  of 
realised  visions  and  the  delight  of  many  generations. 
The  young  workmen  sat  for  each  other,  Morris, 
Burne-Jones,  and  Rossetti  all  possessing  fine  paint- 
able  heads.  They  clambered  up  and  down  endless 
ladders  to  gain  a  satisfactory  view  of  their  perform- 
ance, and  attacked  the  most  stupendous  diftkulties 
with  patience  and  ingenuity.  The  faces  in  the  sub- 
ject undertaken  by  Burne-Jones  were  painted,  for 
example,  in  three  planes  at  right  angles  to  one 
another,  owing  to  the  projection  of  a  string-course 
of  bricks  straight  across  the  space  to  be  filled  by  the 
heads  of  the  figures.  Some  studies  by  Rossetti  have 
been  preserved,  and  show  that  his  part  at  least  of 
the  decoration  was  conceived  in  a  fresh  poetic  spirit, 
with  fulness  and  quaintness  of  expression  and  sug- 
gestion. But  the  congenial  band  had  entered  upon 
their  labours  with  a  carelessness  that  can  only  be  de- 
scribed as  wanton.  Not  one  of  them  knew  how  to 
paint  in  tempera,  and  the  new  damp  walls  were 
smeared  over  with  a  thin  coat  of  white  lime  wash 
laid  upon  the  bare  bricks  as  sole  preparation  for  a 
sort  of  water-colour  painting  that  blossomed  like  a 
flower  under  the  gifted  hands  of  the  artists,  and  faded 
almost  as  soon  away.  The  effect  at  the  time  was 
so  brilliant  as  to  make  the  walls,  according  to  Mr. 


Jfroin  IRossctti  to  the  IRcb  Ibouec.        51 

Coventry  Patmore's  contemporaneous  testimony, 
"  look  like  the  margin  of  an  illuminated  manuscript," 
but  in  the  course  of  a  few  months  the  colours  had 
sunk  into  the  sponge-like  surface  to  such  an  extent  that 
the  designs  were  already  dim  and  indistinguishable. 
Morris,  with  characteristic  promptness,  was  the 
first  on  the  field,  and  his  picture  was  finished  in  ad- 
vance of  any  of  the  others.  He  was,  however,  no 
better  instructed  than  his  companions  in  the  special 
requirements  of  his  material,  and  presently  all  that 
was  left  of  his  painting  was  the  head  of  his  brave 
knight  peering  over  the  tops  of  multitudinous  sun- 
tlowers.  The  decoration  of  the  ceiling  was  also 
assigned  to  him,  and  he  made  his  design  for  it  in  a 
single  day.  Later,  in  1875,  he  repainted  it,  but  most 
of  the  art  of  this  merry  period  has  receded  into  com- 
plete oblivion.  The  stay  in  Oxford  lengthened  into 
months  as  complications  increased,  and  finally  the 
enterprise  was  abandoned  with  the  work  unfmished. 
It  had  led,  however,  to  an  event  of  paramount  im- 
portance to  Morris,  and  of  considerable  importance  to 
Rossetti  —  the  meeting  with  Miss  Burden,  who  was 
to  tigure  in  so  many  of  Rossetti's  symbolic  pictures, 
and  who  became  the  wife  of  Morris.  Her  remarkable 
beauty  had  attracted  the  attention  of  the  young  men 
one  night  at  the  little  Oxford  theatre.  "  My  brother 
was  the  first  to  observe  her,"  writes  William  Ros- 
setti; "  her  face  was  at  once  tragic,  mystic,  passionate, 
calm,  beautiful,  and  gracious  —  a  face  for  a  sculptor 
and  a  face  for  a  painter  —  a  face  solitary  in  England, 


52  MilUam  flDorrie, 

and  not  at  all  like  that  of  an  English  woman,  but 
rather  of  an  Ionian  Greek."  In  Rossetti's  portrait  of 
her  at  eighteen,  painted  shortly  after  this  meeting,  we 
see  the  grave,  unusual  features  almost  precisely  as 
they  are  drawn  with  words  in  a  poem  by  Morris,  en- 
titled Praise  of  My  Lady,  which  Mr.  Mackail  says  was 
written  during  a  visit  to  the  Manchester  Exhibition 
of  1 8s 7,  but  which  assuredly  is  no  earlier  than  the 
date  of  his  acquaintance  with  Jane  Burden.  The 
description,  Pre-Raphaelite  in  its  detail,  runs  through 
the  first  half  of  the  poem  : 


My  Lady  seems  of  ivory 

Forehead,  straight  nose,  and  cheeks  that  be 

Hoilow'd  a  little  mournfully. 

Beata  mea  Domina! 

Her  forehead,  overshadow'd  much 
By  bows  of  hair,  has  a  wave  such 
As  God  was  good  to  make  for  me. 
Beata  mea  Domina! 

Not  greatly  long  my  lady's  hair, 
Nor  yet  with  yellow  color  fair, 
But  thick  and  crisped  wonderfully; 
Beata  mea  Domina! 

Heavy  to  make  the  pale  face  sad, 
And  dark,  but  dead  as  though  it  had 
Been  forged  by  God  most  wonderfully; 
Beata  mea  Domina! 

Of  some  strange  metal,  thread  by  thread, 
To  stand  out  from  my  lady's  head, 
Not  moving  much  to  tangle  me. 
Beata  mea  Domina! 


Jfroin  1R066Ctti  to  tbc  1Rc^  Ibousc,         53 

Beneath  her  brows  the  lids  fall  slow, 
The  lashes  a  clear  shadow  throw 
Where  1  would  wish  my  lips  to  be, 
Beata  mea  Domina! 

Her  great  eyes,  standing  far  apart, 
Draw  up  some  memory  from  her  heart, 
And  gaze  out  very  mournfully; 
Beata  mea  Domina! 

So  beautiful  and  kind  they  are. 
But  most  times  looking  out  afar, 
Waiting  for  something,  not  for  me. 
Beata  mea  Domina! 

I  wonder  if  the  lashes  long 
Are  those  that  do  her  bright  eyes  wrong, 
For  always  half  tears  seem  to  be. 
Beata  mea  Domina! 

Lurking  below  the  underlid, 
Darkening  the  place  where  they  lie  hid  — 
If  they  should  rise  and  flow  for  me! 
Beata  mea  Domina! 

Her  full  lips  being  made  to  kiss, 
Curl'd  up  and  pensive  each  one  is; 
This  makes  me  faint  to  stand  and  see. 
Beata  mea  Domina! 

It  was  the  force  of  this  attraction  that  kept  Morris 
long  at  Oxford  after  Rossetti  and  Burne-Jones  had  re- 
turned to  London,  leaving  the  walls  of  the  Oxford 
Union  to  their  sad  fate.  But  it  was  no  love  in  idle- 
ness for  him,  rather  a  time  of  many  beginnings.  He 
was  carving  in  stone,  modelling  in  clay,  making 
designs  for  stained  glass  windows,   even   "doing 


54  MilUam  riDorris. 

worsted  work,"  in  Rossetti's  contemptuous  phrase 
for  his  efforts  at  reviving  the  lost  art  of  embroidery, 
with  a  frame  made  from  an  old  model  and  wools 
dyed  especially  for  him.  Most  of  all  he  was  writing 
poetry,  the  proper  occupation  of  a  lover  so  aesthetic- 
ally endowed.  Early  in  i8s8  he  had  The  Defence  of 
Guenevere,  a  collection  of  thirty  poems,  ready  to 
bring  out.  Save  for  a  slim  little  pamphlet  entitled 
Sir  Galahad:  A  Christmas  Mystery,  the  contents  of 
which  were  included  in  it,  it  was  his  first  volume  and, 
like  Swinburne's  Rosamond  published  two  years 
later,  it  was  dedicated  to  Rossetti. 

In  this  youthful,  fantastic,  emotional  poetry  we 
get  the  very  essence  of  the  writer's  early  spirit  with- 
out the  strange  shadow  of  foreboding,  the  constant 
sense  of  swiftly  passing  time,  that  comes  into  the 
poetry  of  his  maturity.  Technically,  the  poems  could 
hardly  be  more  picturesquely  defective  than  they  are. 
The  one  giving  the  volume  its  name  is  nearly  unin- 
telligible in  parts,  even  when  the  reader  is  aware  of 
the  incidents  of  Guenevere's  story,  and  prepared  to 
interpret  the  hysterical  ravings  of  a  woman  over- 
come by  sorrow,  shame,  and  love. 

But  no  poems,  except  Rossetti's  own,  have  so 
suggested  romantic  art  in  strange  shapes  and  un- 
bridled colour.  They,  too,  like  the  wall-paintings 
of  that  early  and  unrivalled  time,  resemble  the  mar- 
gins of  an  illuminated  manuscript,  reminding  one  of 
nothing  in  nature,  but  flashing  the  richness  of  medi- 
aeval symbolism  upon  the  imagination  in  more  or  less 


Jroin  1Ro65ctti  to  tbc  IRcb  Ibouse.        55 

awkward  forms.  If  Morris  could  not  ''imitate 
Gabriel "  in  his  pictures,  he  could  at  least  imitate 
Gabriel's  pictures  in  his  poems.  From  the  Beata 
Beatrix,  from  the  Ghirlandata,  from  the  Proserpine, 
from  almost  any  of  Rossetti's  paintings  of  women, 
these  curious  and  affected  lines,  for  example,  might 
have  been  gleaned: 

See  through  my  long  throat  how  the  words  go  up 
In  ripples  to  my  mouth;  how  in  my  hand 

The  shadow  lies  like  wine  within  a  cup 
Of  marvellously  colour'd  gold. 

In  The  Eve  of  Crecy  we  have  the  glitter  of  gold 
and  the  splendour  of  material  things,  rendered  with 
a  childish  abandon,  as  in  the  prose  romances  : 

Gold  on  her  head  and  gold  on  her  feet, 
And  gold  where  the  hems  of  her  kirtle  meet, 
And  a  golden  girdle  round  my  sweet;  — 
Ah!  qu'elle  est  belle,  La  Marguerite. 

Yet  even  now  it  is  good  to  think 

Of  Margaret  sitting  glorious  there, 
In  glory  of  gold  and  glory  of  hair, 
And  glory  of  glorious  face  most  fair; 

Ah!  qu'elle  est  belle,  La  Marguerite. 

The  full  hues  that  had  for  the  decorators  of  me- 
dieval missals  a  religious  significance  recur  again 
and  again  in  lines  that  have  much  more  to  do  with 
earth  than  with  heaven,  and  show  less  concern  with 
the  human  soul  than  with  the  human  heart.  Da- 
mozels  hold  scarlet  lilies  such  as  Maiden  Margaret 


56  Milliam  flDorris. 

bears  ''on  the  great  church  walls  ;"  ladies  walk  in 
their  gardens  clad  in  white  and  scarlet;  the  vision  of 
Christ  appears  to  Galahad  "with  raiment  half  blood- 
red,  half  white  as  snow "  ;  angels  appear  clad  in 
white  with  scarlet  wings;  scarlet  is  the  predomin- 
ating colour  throughout,  if  we  except  gold,  which 
serves  as  background  and  ornament  to  every- 
thing. Next  to  scarlet  comes  green,  which  Morris 
was  later  to  call  "the  workaday  colour,"  and  we 
find  occasional  patches  of  blue  and  of  grey  in  painted 
boats  and  in  hangings.  The  following  stanza  shows 
a  favourite  method  of  emphasising  the  prevailing 
colour  of  a  poem: 

The  water  slips, 
The  red-bili'd  heron  dips. 
Sweet  i<isses  on  red  lips, 
Alas!  the  red  rust  grips, 
And  the  blood-red  dagger  rips. 
Yet,  O  knight,  come  to  me! 

For  pure  incoherence,  the  quality  that  Rossetti 
discerned  in  Morris  at  their  first  meeting,  the  song 
from  which  this  stanza  is  taken  is  unsurpassed.  Yet 
an  emotional  effect  is  gained  in  it.  What  we  chiefly 
miss  in  the  little  craft  sailing  under  such  vivid  colours, 
is  that  "deep-grasping  keel  of  reason"  which, 
Lowell  says,  "alone  can  steady  and  give  direction  " 
to  verse.  Excitable  and  impatient,  in  pursuit  of  a 
vague  ideal,  gifted  with  the  power  to  bring  out  the 
pictorial  quality  of  detached  scenes,  but  without  a  fine 
metrical  sense,  and  averse  to  lucid  statement,  the 


Ifroin  IRossetti  to  the  IRet)  Ibouec.         57 

young  poet  introduced  himself  to  the  world  as  a 
symbolist  in  the  modern  acceptation  of  the  word. 
One  of  his  poems,  Rjpiin:(el,  has  been  said  to  fore- 
cast Maeterlinck's  manner  and  spirit,  and  the  general 
characteristics  of  the  poem  —  a  fairy  tale  somewhat 
too  ''grown-up"  in  treatment  —  certainly  suggest 
the  comparison.  In  all  this  work  physical  character- 
istics play  an  important  part.  Long  hands  with 
''tenderly  shadowed  fingers,"  "long  lips"  that 
"cleave"  to  the  fingers  they  kiss,  lips  "damp  with 
tears,"  that  "shudder  with  a  kiss,"  lips  "like  a 
curved  sword,"  warm  arms,  long,  fair  arms,  lithe 
arms,  twining  arms,  broad  fair  eyelids,  long  necks, 
and  unlimited  hair,  form  an  equipment  somewhat 
dangerous  for  a  poet  with  anything  short  of  genius 
to  sustain  him.  For  themes  Morris  had  gone  chiefly 
to  the  Arthurian  stories  and  to  the  chronicles  of  Frois- 
sart.  His  style,  he  himself  thought,  was  more  like 
Browning's  than  anyone  else's,  though  the  difference 
that  lay  between  him  and  Browning  even  at  the 
beginning  forbade  any  essential  likeness.  Brown- 
ing's effort  was  always  to  render  an  idea  which  was 
perfectly  clear  in  his  own  mind.  His  volubility  and 
obscurity  and  roughness  frequently  arose  from  his 
over-eagerness  to  express  his  idea  in  a  variety  of 
ways,  leading  him  to  break  off  with  half  statements 
and  begin  afresh,  to  throw  out  imperfect  suggestions 
and  follow  them  with  others  equally  imperfect.  But 
all  his  stutterings  and  broken  sentences  failed  to  dis- 
guise the  fact  that  an  intellectual  conception  under- 


58  MilUatn  riDorris. 

lay  the  turbulent  method,  giving  substance  and  life 
to  the  poem  however  much  it  might  lack  grace  and 
form.  With  Morris  the  intellectual  conception  was 
as  weak  as  with  Browning  it  was  strong,  and  appar- 
ently existed  chiefly  to  give  an  excuse  for  the  pictures 
following  one  another  in  rapid  succession  through 
every  poem,  short  or  long,  dramatic  or  lyric,  of  both 
his  youth  and  maturity.  In  this  early  volume  there 
was,  to  be  sure,  an  obvious  effort  toward  rendering 
psychological  effects.  Most  of  the  longer  poems  are 
miniature  dramas  with  a  march  toward  some  great 
event  in  the  lives  of  the  actors.  The  author  observes 
the  dramatic  requirement  of  sinking  himself  in  the 
identity  of  his  characters.  Knights  are  slain  and 
ladies  die  of  love  and  witch-bound  maidens  are 
rescued  by  their  princes  without  the  sounding  of  a 
personal  note  on  the  part  of  their  creator.  And  in 
two  instances,  Sir  Peter  Harpdon's  End  and  The 
Haystack  in  the  Floods,  there  is  ruddy  human  blood 
in  the  tortured  beings  whose  extremity  moves  the 
reader  with  a  genuine  emotion.  In  these  two  poems 
the  voice  might  indeed  be  the  voice  of  Browning, 
though  the  hand  is  still  unmistakably  the  hand  of 
Morris.  In  the  main,  however,  the  appeal  that  is 
made  is  to  the  imagination  concerned  with  the  visible 
aspect  of  brilliantly  coloured  objects  and  with  the 
delirious  expression  of  overwrought  feelings. 

One  defect,  calculated  to  interfere  with  a  warm 
reception  of  the  volume  on  the  part  of  the  general 
public,  Morris  shared  with  Browning,  possessing  even 


l^zmo\A  .?.^\A^  w'Aaw^  ^^vvvAXf^  V\Si^V\o^ 


Portrait  of  jane  Burden  (Mrs.  Morris) 

By  Rossetti 


■:-?W^ 


\ 


jfroin  1Rot?£^ctti  to  the  IRct)  Ibouec.         59 

more  than  Browning  the  merit  attending  it.  Famil- 
iarity with  the  art  and  literature  of  the  Middle  Ages 
made  it  natural  for  him  to  preserve  the  thin  new 
wine  of  his  youthful  poetry  in  the  old  bottles  of  the 
defunct  past,  using  motives  and  scenes  and  acces- 
sories alien  to  our  modern  life,  and  only  dimly  under- 
stood by  the  modern  reader.  The  true  spirit  of  that 
past  it  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  he  did  not  revive, — 
no  writer  has  ever  revived  the  true  spirit  of  any  age 
antecedent  to  his  own, — and  Morris,  with  his  re- 
markable faculty  for  eliminating  from  his  mental 
conceptions  whatever  did  not  please  his  taste,  was 
wholly  unfitted  by  temperament,  however  well  fitted 
by  his  acquirements,  to  carry  through  successfully  a 
task  so  tremendous. 

The  Defence  of  Guenevere  was  received  by  the 
public  without  enthusiasm.  About  half  an  edition 
of  five  hundred  copies  was  sold  and  given  away,  and 
the  remainder  lingered  for  a  dozen  years  or  more 
until  the  publication  of  The  Earthly  Paradise  stimu- 
lated the  interest  of  readers  in  the  previous  work 
of  its  author. 

Whatever  disappointment  Morris  may  have  felt 
must  soon  have  given  way  to  the  excitement  of  the 
plunge  he  now  made  into  a  new  life  and  the  most 
intense  personal  interests.  On  the  twenty-sixth  of 
April,  1859,  he  was  married  to  Jane  Burden,  and  after 
a  brief  interval  of  travel  he  began  to  build  the  beau- 
tiful house  which  he  then  supposed  would  be  his 
home  for  the  rest  of  his  days. 


6o  Milliam  riDorna 

His  personal  attractiveness  at  this  time  was  keenly 
felt  by  his  companions.  He  had  been  "  making  him- 
self," as  the  phrase  is,  since  his  childhood,  and  if 
Stevenson's  dictum— to  knov/  what  you  like  is  the 
beginning  of  wisdom  and  of  old  age— be  applied  to 
him  he  can  never  have  been  wholly  ignorant  or  a 
child.  Knowledge  of  what  he  liked,  and  even  more 
definitely  of  what  he  did  not  like,  was  his  earliest  as 
well  as  his  most  notable  acquirement.  But  he  was 
a  boy,  too,  in  his  excessive  restless  vitality,  and 
hitherto  with  all  his  enthusiasms  he  had  been  a  some- 
what cold  boy.  Just  now  he  was  beginning  to  "take 
a  fancy  for  the  human,"  as  one  of  his  friends  put  it. 
He  was  connecting  his  vague  schemes  and  ambitions 
with  a  personal  and  practical  enterprise.  His  ideals 
dropped  from  a  region  always  too  rare  for  them  to 
an  atmosphere  of  activities  and  interests  in  which 
the  vast  general  public  could  breathe  as  easily  as  he. 
In  building  his  new  home  to  his  fancy  he  was  uncon- 
sciously laying  the  corner-stones  of  the  many  homes 
throughout  England  into  which  his  influence  was 
afterward  to  enter.  He  was  just  twenty-five,  filled 
with  energy,  generous  impulse,  honesty,  and  kind- 
ness. The  bourgeois  touch  which  his  biographer 
declares  was  inherent  in  his  nature  was  far  from 
obvious  as  yet.  Society  for  its  own  sake  he  liked 
little,  and  was  not  above  getting  out  of  unwelcome 
invitations  by  subterfuge,  if  fair  means  would  not 
avail.  He  affected  a  Bohemian  carelessness  in  dress, 
and  his  hair  was  uniformly  wild.     His  language  was 


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Ifroni  1R066ctti  to  the  IRcb  Iboiiec.         6i 

generally  forcible,  often  violent,  always  expressive. 
He  lived  in  the  company  of  his  intimates  and  cared 
for  nothing  beyond  the  range  of  his  fixed  interests. 
The  remark  made  long  after — "Do  you  suppose 
that  1  should  see  anything  in  Rome  that  1  can't  see 
in  Whitechapel  ?  " — was  perfectly  indicative  of  his 
mood  toward  everything  that  failed  to  arouse  his 
intellectual  curiosity.  But  the  places  and  things  that 
did  arouse  it  were  never  tawdry  or  valueless,  and  his 
reasons  for  caring  for  them,  of  which  he  was  always 
remarkably  prolific,  were  such  as  appeal  strongly  to 
the  mind  in  which  homely  associations  hold  a  con- 
stant place.  It  must  be  an  out  and  out  classicist 
who  fails  to  detect  in  himself  a  pulsation  of  sym- 
pathy in  response  to  the  wail  which  Morris  once  sent 
home  from  Verona:  ''Yes,  and  even  in  these  mag- 
nificent and  wonderful  towns  I  long  rather  for  the 
heap  of  grey  stones  with  a  grey  roof  that  we  call 
a  house  north-away." 

His  first  house,  in  which  he  took  unlimited  de- 
light, was  not,  however,  a  heap  of  grey  stones,  but  a 
structure  of  brick,  its  name,  the  Red  House,  indicat- 
ing its  striking  and  then  unusual  colour.  Its  architect 
was  Philip  Webb,  who  had  been  an  associate  of 
Morris  during  the  brief  period  passed  in  Mr.  Street's 
office.  Situated  not  far  from  London,  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  village  of  Upton  and  in  the  midst  of  a  pleasant 
orchard,  whose  trees  dropped  their  fruit  into  its  win- 
dows, the  Red  House  wore  an  emphatically  Gothic 
aspect.     It  was  L-shaped,  with  numerous  irregulari- 


62  MilUam  flDorrie, 

ties  of  plan,  and  entirely  without  frippery  of  applied 
ornament.  Its  great  sloping  roof,  the  pointed  arches 
of  its  doorways,  the  deep  simple  porches,  the  large 
hall,  with  its  long  table  in  place  of  an  entrance  alley 
the  open-timbered  roof  over  the  staircase,  the  pan- 
elled screen  dividing  the  great  hall  from  a  lesser  one, 
— all  these  were  characteristic  of  the  old  English 
house  before  the  day  of  Italian  invasion,  while  the 
mobile  Gothic  style,  adapting  itself  readily  to  indi- 
vidual needs,  prevailed.  It  stood  among  the  old  and 
gnarled  trees,  only  two  stories  in  height,  but  with  an 
effect  of  rambling  spaciousness  and  hospitality,  and 
the  garden  that  lay  close  to  it  was  as  individual  and 
old-fashioned  as  itself.  Morris  prided  himself,  Mr. 
Mackail  tells  us,  on  his  knowledge  of  gardening,  and 
his  advice  to  the  Birmingham  Society  of  Artists  in 
one  of  the  lectures  of  his  later  years  shows  how 
thoughtfully  he  considered  the  subject.  As  he  al- 
ways acted  so  far  as  he  could  upon  his  theories,  we 
may  be  fairly  sure  that  the  Red  House  garden  was 
planned  in  conformity  with  the  ideal  place  sketched 
in  this  lecture,  and  may  assume  in  it  a  profusion  of 
single  flowers  mixed  to  avoid  great  masses  of  colour, 
among  them  the  old  columbine,  where  the  clustering 
doves  are  unmistakable  and  distinct,  the  old  china 
aster,  the  single  snowdrop,  and  the  sunflower,  these 
planted  in  little  squares,  divided  from  each  other  by 
grassy  walks,  and  hedged  in  by  wild  rose  or  sweet- 
briar  trellises.  We  may  be  sure  the  place  contained 
no  curiosities  from  the  jungle  or  tropical  waste,  that 


Jfroin  IRosectti  to  the  IRcb  Ibouse.        6 


J 


everything  was  excluded  which  was  not  native  to  the 
English  soil,  and  that  ferns  and  brakes  from  the  wood- 
land were  not  enticed  from  the  place  of  their  origin  to 
take  away  the  characteristic  domestic  look  of  a  spot 
that  ought  to  seem  "  like  a  part  of  the  house."  "  It 
will  be  a  key  to  right  thinking  about  gardens,"  says 
Morris,  "if  you  consider  in  what  kind  of  places  a 
garden  is  most  desired.  In  a  very  beautiful  country, 
especially  if  it  be  mountainous,  we  can  do  without  it 
well  enough,  whereas  in  a  flat  and  dull  country  we 
crave  after  it,  and  there  it  is  often  the  very  making  of 
the  homestead  ;  while  in  great  towns,  gardens  both 
private  and  public  are  positive  necessities  if  the  citi- 
zens are  to  live  reasonable  and  healthy  lives  in  body 
and  mind." 

Passing  from  this  first  necessity  of  reasonable  and 
healthy  living  through  the  rose-masked  doorway  into 
the  Red  House  itself,  we  find  it  equally  suggestive 
of  its  master's  personal  tastes  and  beliefs.  For  every- 
thing Morris  had  his  persuasive  reason.  His  win- 
dows had  small  leaded  panes  of  glass,  because  the 
large  windows  found  "in  most  decent  houses  or 
what  are  so  called,"  let  in  a  flood  of  light  "  in  a  hap- 
hazard and  ill-considered  way,"  which  the  indwellers 
are  "forced  to  obscure  again  by  shutters,  blinds, 
curtains,  screens,  heavy  upholsteries,  and  such  other 
nuisances."  By  all  means,  therefore,  All  the  window 
with  moderate-sized  panes  of  glass  set  in  solid  sash 
bars  —  "  we  shall  then  at  all  events  feel  as  if  we  were 
indoors  on  a  cold  day  "  —  as  if  we  had  a  roof  over  our 


64  MilUam  riDorrie. 

heads.  The  fact  that  small  windows  were  used  in 
medieval  times  and  must  therefore  of  necessity  be 
superior  is  not  brought  forward  in  this  argument, 
and  the  charm  of  the  reasoning  is  not  marred  by  any 
reminder  of  the  actual  conditions  of  which  small 
heavily  leaded  windows  are  a  survival  —  such  as  the 
fortress  style  of  building  belonging  to  a  warlike  time, 
and  the  great  costliness  of  glass,  and  the  inability  to 
support  large  panes  by  leads. 

Morris  could  always  be  trusted  to  support  his 
fundamental  liking  for  a  thing  by  a  host  of  assurances 
as  to  its  sensible  merits  and  practical  advantages, 
but  the  mere  fact  that  he  liked  it  was  quite  sufficient 
for  his  own  satisfaction  of  mind.  When  one  of  his 
comrades  once  suggested  to  him  that  personal  feeling 
ought  not  to  count  for  too  much,  and  that  not  liking 
a  thing  did  not  make  it  bad,  he  replied:  "  Oh,  don't 
it  though!  What  we  don't  like  is  bad."  And  he  had 
a  fashion  which  must  have  produced  an  irritating 
effect  upon  some  of  his  hearers,  of  declaring  that  the 
people  who  did  not  hold  his  ideas  must  be  unhealthy 
either  in  body  or  mind  or  both.  Certainly  the  aspect 
of  the  Red  House  suggested  health  within  its  walls. 
With  a  slight  stretch  of  imagination  one  could  argue 
from  its  furnishings  that  its  master  was  a  northerner, 
a  middle-class  man,  the  admirer  of  a  rough  age,  a 
sturdy  art,  a  plain  habit  of  life;  that  he  was  a  worker 
whose  dreams  tormented  him  to  speedy  and  vigorous 
action,  a  creature  whose  vitality  was  too  great  even 
for  his  strong  frame  and  physical  power.     He  liked  a 


Jfrom  1Ro66ctti  to  the  1Rct>  1bou9C.        65 

massive  chair,  and  well  he  might,  for  one  of  his 
amusements  was  to  twist  his  legs  about  it  in  such  a 
way  that  a  lightly  built  affair  must  instantly  succumb. 
He  liked  a  floor  that  he  could  stamp  on  with  im- 
punity; he  liked  a  table  on  which  he  could  pound 
with  his  fists  without  danger  to  its  equilibrium.  In 
the  Red  House  these  requirements  were  fully  met. 
In  the  lecture  called  The  Beauty  of  Life  is  an  account 
of  the  fittings  ''necessary  to  the  sitting-room  of  a 
healthy  person."  Beside  the  table  that  will  "keep 
steady  when  you  work  upon  it,"  and  the  chairs 
''  that  you  can  move  about,"  the  good  floor,  and  the 
small  carpet  "  which  can  be  bundled  out  of  the  room 
in  two  minutes,"  there  must  be  "a  bookcase  with  a 
great  many  books  in  it,"  a  bench  "that  you  can  sit 
or  lie  upon,"  a  cupboard  with  drawers,  and,  "unless 
either  the  bookcase  or  the  cupboard  be  very  beauti- 
ful with  painting  or  carving,"  pictures  or  engravings 
on  the  wall,  "or  else  the  wall  itself  must  be  orna- 
mented with  some  beautiful  and  restful  pattern," 
then  a  vase  or  two,  and  fireplaces  as  unlike  as  possi- 
ble to  "the  modern  mean,  miserable,  and  showy 
affairs,  plastered  about  with  wretched  sham  orna- 
ment, trumpery  of  cast  iron,  and  brass  and  polished 
steel,  and  what  not  —  offensive  to  look  at  and  a 
nuisance  to  clean."  To  these  necessaries,  "unless 
we  are  musical  and  need  a  piano,  in  which  case  as 
far  as  beauty  is  concerned  we  are  in  a  bad  way,"  we 
can  add  very  little  without  "troubling  ourselves, 
and  hindering  our  work,  our  thought,  and  our  rest." 


66  Milliam  riDorrie. 

In  accordance  with  these  opinions,  but  with  a  ful- 
ness and  richness  of  ornament  not  suggested  by  the 
simplicity  of  their  expression,  the  pleasant  building 
at  Upton  gradually  took  on  great  beauty  and  indi- 
viduality. The  walls  were  hung  with  embroidered 
fabrics  worked  by  Mrs.  Morris  and  her  friends,  or 
painted  by  Burne-Jones,  who,  undeterred  by  the  Ox- 
ford episode,  started  an  elaborate  series  of  mural 
decorations  in  illustration  of  the  wonderful  adventures 
of  Sire  Degravant,  the  hero  of  an  ancient  romance. 
Another  series  of  scenes  from  the  War  of  Troy  was 
started  for  the  walls  of  the  staircase,  and  although 
both  schemes  were  abandoned,  enough  was  done  to 
give  an  effect  of  splendour  to  the  rooms.  Up  to  the 
large  drawing-room  came  the  ponderous  and  mighty 
settle  which  had  cost  so  many  expletives  in  the 
course  of  its  adjustment  to  the  old  room  in 
Red  Lion  Square,  and  which  was  now  embellished 
by  a  balcony  at  the  top  to  which  a  stairway  led  up. 
All  minor  accessories  were  thoughtfully  considered 
and  for  the  most  part  designed  by  Morris  or  by 
friends  pressed  into  service  at  his  eager  demand. 
He  found  little  to  content  him  in  the  articles  of 
commerce  on  sale  at  the  orthodox  shops  in  the  early 
sixties.  "In  looking  at  an  old  house,"  he  says  in 
one  of  his  books,  "  we  please  ourselves  by  thinking 
of  all  the  generations  of  men  that  have  passed 
through  it,  remembering  how  it  has  received  their 
joy  and  borne  their  sorrow  and  not  even  their  folly 
has  left  sourness  on  it;   and  in  looking  at  a  new 


r 


IHt  SIRAWBBRRY  THIEF"  DESIGN  FOR  COTTON  PRINT 


Jfrotn  1Ro06ctti  to  the  1Rc^  Ibouec.        67 

house  if  built  as  it  should  be,  we  feel  a  pleasure  in 
thinking  how  he  who  built  it  has  left  a  piece  of  his 
soul  behind  him  to  greet  the  newcomers  one  after 
another,  long  after  he  is  gone."  Such  an  impress  he 
left  upon  the  Red  House,  so  that  no  one  passing  it  or 
even  hearing  of  it  can  fail  to  think  of  it  as  belonging 
to  William  Morris,  whoever  may  have  the  fortune  to 
live  in  it  hereafter,  and  fall  heir  to  the  associations 
with  which  he  invested  it. 

During  the  time  of  building  and  furnishing  he 
was  exuberantly  happy  and  wholly  in  his  element. 
Turning  constantly  from  one  thing  to  another,  yet 
keeping  along  the  line  of  his  united  interests,  giving 
his  magnificent  energy  free  scope  in  doing  and  ac- 
complishing, seeing  grow  into  visible  form  the  theo- 
ries and  tastes  so  dear  to  his  heart,  letting  out  his 
enthusiasms  and  carrying  others  along  on  their  cur- 
rent, setting  a  practical  example  in  what  he  believed 
to  be  of  the  deepest  importance  by  requiring  for 
himself  artistic  handicraft,  acting  out  a  vigorous 
protest  against  the  mechanical  arts  and  the  shams  of 
the  commercial  world, —  all  this  was  meat  and  drink 
to  him,  and  out  of  it  grew  an  enterprise  representing 
what  to  the  public  has  been  probably  the  most  valu- 
able side  of  his  many-sided  career,  the  establishment 
of  a  firm  engaged  in  various  forms  of  decorative 
art.  At  about  this  time  he  adopted,  after  the  fishion 
of  the  master-workman  of  the  Middle  Ages,  a  device 
or  legend  expressive  in  one  way  or  another  of  his 
aim.     He  chose  the  one  used  by  Van  Eyck,  "  Als  ich 


68 


Milliam  riDorns, 


kanne," —  if  1  can, —  and  distributed  it  in  French  trans- 
lation and  in  English  over  his  house,  on  windows 
and  tiles  and  in  tapestry  hangings.  The  modesty  of 
the  words  was  no  doubt  as  sincere  in  his  case  as  in 
the  case  of  the  old  Flemish  painter  who  excelled  all 
his  contemporaries,  but  the  extent  to  which  he  could 
and  did  in  the  new  business  on  which  he  was  about 
to  enter  has  been  the  wonder  of  his  followers. 


CHAPTER  IV. 
MORRIS  AND  COMPANY. 

THE  formation  of  the  firm  of  "Morris,  Mar- 
shall, Faulkner,  &  Company,"  as  it  was  first 
called,  appears  to  have  been  highly  inciden- 
tal in  character,  despite  the  assertion  of  Morris  him- 
self in  a  letter  to  his  old  tutor,  that  he  had  long 
meant  to  be  a  decorator,  and  to  that  end  mainly  had 
built  his  fme  house.  "One  evening  a  lot  of  us 
were  together,"  says  Rossetti,  in  the  account  given 
by  Mr.  Watts-Dunton,  "  and  we  got  to  talking  about 
the  way  in  which  artists  did  all  kinds  of  things  in 
olden  times,  designed  every  kind  of  decoration  and 
most  kinds  of  furniture,  and  someone  suggested  — 
as  a  joke  more  than  anything  else  —  that  we  should 
each  put  down  five  pounds  and  form  a  company. 
Fivers  were  blossoms  of  a  rare  growth  among  us  in 
those  days,  and  I  won't  swear  that  the  table  bristled 
with  fivers.  Anyhow  the  firm  was  formed,  but  of 
course  there  was  no  deed  or  anything  of  that  kind. 
In  fact  it  was  a  mere  playing  at  business,  and  Morris 

was  elected  manager,  not  because  we  ever  dreamed  he 

69 


70  Milliatn  flDorris, 

would  turn  out  a  man  of  business,  but  because  he  was 
the  only  one  among  us  who  had  both  time  and  money 
to  spare.  We  had  no  idea  whatever  of  commercial 
success,  but  it  succeeded  almost  in  our  own  despite." 
in  the  mind  of  Morris  it  doubtless  promised  to  be 
the  sort  of  association  about  which  he  was  con- 
stantly dreaming;  a  group  of  intelligent  craftsmen 
interested  in  making  the  details  of  daily  life  as  full  as 
possible  of  beauty,  each  man  fitted  to  his  task  and 
loving  it,  each  in  his  way  a  master-workman  of  the 
guild,  counting  his  craft  honourable  and  spending 
his  best  thought  and  labour  on  it.  There  was  ground 
enough  for  faith  in  the  artistic  if  not  in  the  com- 
mercial outcome  of  the  enterprise.  The  associates, 
beside  Morris,  Rossetti,  and  Burne-Jones,  were 
Madox-Brown,  then  an  artist  of  established  reputa- 
tion, Webb,  the  architect  of  the  Red  House,  who  was 
also  a  designer  of  furniture  and  ornament;  Peter  Paul 
Marshall,  to  whom  Mr.  William  Rossetti  ascribes  the 
first  suggestion  of  the  formation  of  the  firm,  a  ''  capa- 
ble artist  "  although  an  amateur;  and  Charles  Faulk- 
ner of  the  Oxford  group,  who  had  followed  his  mates 
to  London  unable  to  endure  the  loneliness  of  Oxford 
without  them.  They  proposed  to  open  what  Ros- 
setti called  "an  actual  shop,"  and  sell  whatever  their 
united  talent  produced.     "  We  are  not  intending  to 

compete  with 's  costly  rubbish  or  anything  of 

that  sort,"  Rossetti  wrote  to  his  friend  Allingham, 
"  but  to  give  real  good  taste  at  the  price  as  far  as 
possible  of  ordinary  furniture." 


TULIP   DESIGN   FuR   AXMINSIEK  CARl'HT 


flDorrie  anb  Company?.  71 

In  the  Spring  of  1861,  premises  were  taken  over  a 
jeweller's  shop  at  8  Red  Lion  Square.  Two  floors 
and  a  part  of  the  basement  were  used  by  the  firm, 
and  about  a  dozen  men  and  boys  were  presently 
employed.  There  were  regular  weekly  meetings 
carried  on  with  the  boisterousness  of  youth  and  high 
spirits,  but  with  thorough  efficiency,  nevertheless, 
where  plans  that  were  to  modify  and  influence  the 
household  decoration  of  all  England  were  gaily  formed 
and  put  into  practice. 

The  prospectus,  in  which  Mr.  Mackail  discerns 
Rossetti's  "slashing  hand  and  imperious  accent," 
was  not  entirely  calculated  to  mollify  rival  decorators, 
calling  attention  to  the  fact  that  attempts  at  decorative 
art  up  to  that  time  had  been  crude  and  fragmentary, 
and  emphasising  the  want  of  some  one  place  where 
work  of  "  a  genuine  and  beautiful  character  could  be 
obtained."  The  new  firm  pledged  itself  to  execute 
in  a  business-like  manner : 

"I.  Mural  Decoration,  either  in  Pictures  or  in 
Pattern  Work,  or  merely  in  the  arrangement  of  Col- 
ours, as  applied  to  dwelling-houses,  churches,  or 
public  buildings. 

"  11.  Carving  generally,  as  applied  to  Architecture. 

"III.  Stained  Glass,  especially  with  reference  to 
its  harmony  with  Mural  Decoration. 

"IV.  Metal  Work  in  all  its  branches,  including 
Jewellery. 

"V.  Furniture,  either  depending  for  its  beauty 
on  its  own  design,  on  the  application  of  materials 


72  Milliam  riDorne, 

hitherto  overlooked,  or  on  its  conjunction  with  Figure 
and  Pattern  Painting.  Under  this  head  is  included 
Embroidery  of  all  kinds,  Stamped  Leather,  and  orna- 
mental work  in  other  such  materials,  besides  every 
article  necessary  for  domestic  use." 

Clearly  this  was  not  the  usual  thing,  nor  was  the 
business  conducted  in  the  usual  way.  According  to 
Mr.  William  Rossetti,  the  young  reformers  adopted 
a  tone  of  "something  very  like  dictatorial  irony" 
toward  their  customers,  permitting  no  compromise, 
and  laying  down  the  law  without  concession  to  in- 
dividual taste  or  want  of  taste.  You  could  have 
things  such  as  the  firm  chose  them  to  be  or  you 
could  go  without  them. 

The  finance  of  the  company  began,  Mr.  Mackail 
says,  with  a  call  of  one  pound  per  share  and  a  loan 
of  a  hundred  pounds  from  Mrs.  Morris  of  Leyton. 
In  1862  a  further  call  of  nineteen  pounds  a  share  was 
made  on  the  partners,  raising  the  paid-up  capital  to 
one  hundred  and  forty  pounds,  which  ''was  never 
increased  until  the  dissolution  of  the  firm  in  1874." 
A  few  hundred  pounds  additional  were  loaned  by 
Morris  and  his  mother.  Each  piece  of  work  con- 
tributed by  any  member  of  the  firm  was  paid  for  at 
the  time,  and  Morris  as  general  manager  received  a 
salary  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  year. 

It  is  obvious  that  with  this  slender  financial  basis 
the  business  required  the  utmost  energy,  industry, 
skill,  and  talent  to  keep  it  from  being  promptly 
wrecked  on  the  very  uncertain  coast  of  public  opin- 


PEACOCK   DESIGN   FOR  COARSE   WOOL   HANGINGS 


flDorns  anb  Cotnpaii\>.  73 

ion.  During  the  first  year  all  the  members  of  the 
firm  were  active,  although  even  at  the  first  Morris 
led  the  rest.  A  stimulus  was  provided  by  the  inter- 
national Hxhibition  of  1862,  whither  they  sent  ex- 
amples of  their  work,  at  the  cost,  wrote  Faulkner,  of 
"  more  tribulation  and  swearing  to  Topsy  than  three 
exhibitions  will  be  worth."  The  exhibits  attracted 
attention,  and  were  awarded  medals,  in  the  case  of 
the  stained  glass,  "for  artistic  qualities  of  colour  and 
design,"  and  in  the  case  of  the  furniture,  hangings, 
and  so  forth,  for  the  "closeness  with  which  the  style 
of  the  Middle  Ages  was  rendered."  It  happened  that 
the  chief  work  in  stained  glass  in  the  exhibit  of  the 
firm  consisted  of  a  set  of  windows  designed  by  Ros- 
setti,  and  giving,  according  to  a  Belgian  critic,  "an 
impression  of  colour,  dazzling  and  magnificent,  vel- 
vety and  harmonious,  resembling  the  Flemish  stained 
glass  windows  decorating  the  Gothic  cathedrals." 
Thus,  fortunately,  the  first  appearance  of  the  firm 
was  distinguished  by  the  splendour  which  Rossetti 
alone  among  the  group  of  workers  could  achieve, 
but  his  interest  and  activity  shortly  flagged  and  were 
absorbed  in  his  individual  work  outside  the  company. 
At  first,  despite  the  lordly  prospectus,  there  were 
occasional  blunders.  Dr.  Birkbeck  Hill  tells  of  a 
study  table  and  an  arm-chair,  neither  one  of  which 
was  so  thorough  a  piece  of  workmanship  as  the  tirm 
would  have  turned  out  later  on,  and  Mr.  Hughes 
remembers  a  sofa  with  a  long  bar  beneath  projecting 
six  inches  at  each  end  so  that  it  tripped  up  anyone 


74  Milliam  HDorris, 

who  hastily  went  round  it.  These,  however,  were 
blunders  of  a  kind  soon  remedied  by  experience.  So 
long  as  the  associates  kept  up  their  enthusiasm  there 
were  among  them  ample  skill  to  grapple  with  tech- 
nicalities, and  ample  artistic  faculty  to  defy  all  ordi- 
nary competition.  Whoever  dropped  behind  from 
time  to  time  in  this  most  essential  quality  of  enthu- 
siasm it  was  never  Morris,  and  all  accounts  agree  in 
attributing  to  his  energy  and  industry  and  unutterable 
zest  the  success  of  the  novel  and  interesting  experi- 
ment. ''He  is  the  only  man  1  have  known,"  said 
Rossetti  once,  *' who  beats  every  other  man  at  his 
own  game."  The  men  he  had  to  beat  at  this  game 
of  decoration  were  for  the  most  part  unworthy  foes. 
Decorative  art  was  at  a  low  ebb  in  the  early  Victorian 
age,  the  age  of  antimacassars,  stucco,  and  veneer. 
From  this  cheap  vulgarity  and  pretentiousness  Morris 
turned  back  —  as  he  was  wont  to  do  on  every 
occasion  that  offered  excuse  —  to  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury as  the  purest  fount  of  English  tradition,  where, 
if  anywhere,  could  be  found  models  showing  logical 
principles  of  construction  and  genuine  workmanship. 
His  companions  either  caught  from  him  the  infection 
of  the  mediaeval  attitude  or  were  already  in  sympathy 
with  it,  and  the  work  of  the  firm  took  on  an  emphat- 
ically Gothic  aspect  from  the  beginning.  How  great 
or  how  important  a  part  each  member  played  in  the 
sum  of  the  production  is  very  difficult  to  estimate 
owing  to  the  cooperative  plan  by  which  several 
artists  frequently  united  in  executing  one  and  the 


flDoiTis  anb  Company.  75 

same  piece  of  work.  Sometimes  Burne-Jones  would 
draw  the  figures,  Webb  the  birds,  and  Morris  the 
foliage  for  a  piece  of  drapery  or  wall-paper.  Again 
portions  of  separate  designs  would  be  used  over  and 
over  in  different  combinations  for  different  places. 
This  free  cooperation,  this  moving  about  within  the 
limits  of  a  general  plan,  suited  the  restless  spirit  of 
Morris,  and  chimed  also  with  his  profound  admiration 
for  the  way  in  which  the  medieval  works  of  art  were 
brought  about,  no  one  man  standing  high  above  the 
others  or  trying  to  preserve  his  name  and  the  fame 
of  his  performance.  Working  for  the  pleasure  of  the 
work  was  of  the  very  essence  of  his  philosophy,  and 
nothing  could  be  more  unjust  than  the  sneers  from 
time  to  time  launched  at  him  because  his  venture 
proved  a  commercial  triumph.  Perhaps  it  would  be 
going  too  far  to  say  that  money-getting  was  never 
in  his  mind,  but  there  is  no  question  that  it  was 
never  first  in  his  mind,  and  never  in  the  slightest 
degree  crowded  his  desire  to  put  forth  sincere, 
fine  work,  worth  its  price  to  the  last  detail,  and 
worthy  of  praise  and  liking  without  regard  to  its 
price.  There  was  not  the  slightest  suggestion  of 
pose  or  sham  of  any  kind  in  his  thought  when  he 
wrote,  as  he  often  did,  against  the  greed  of  gain  and 
in  praise  of  the  kind  of  labour  that  may  be  delighted 
in  without  regard  to  pounds  and  pence.  He  could 
say  quite  faithfully  that  he  shared  the  humility  of  the 
early  craftsmen,  of  whom  he  speaks  with  reverence. 
*'\n  most  sober  earnest,"  he  says  in  one  of  his 


76  MiUiam  riDonis. 

lectures,  ''when  we  hear  it  said,  as  it  often  is  said, 
that  extra  money  payment  is  necessary  under  all 
circumstances  to  produce  great  works  of  art,  and  that 
men  of  special  talent  will  not  use  those  talents  with- 
out being  bribed  by  mere  gross  material  advantages, 
we,  1  say,  shall  know  what  to  reply.  We  can  appeal 
to  the  witness  of  those  lovely  works  still  left  to  us, 
whose  unknown,  unnamed  creators  were  content  to 
give  them  to  the  world,  with  little  more  extra  wages 
than  what  their  pleasure  in  their  work  and  their  sense 
of  usefulness  in  it  might  bestow  on  them."  There  is 
no  room  for  doubt  that  he  approached  his  work  in 
precisely  the  spirit  here  described  by  him.  He  was 
willing  to  exercise  his  faculties  on  the  humblest 
undertakings,  with  no  other  aim  than  to  make  a 
common  thing  pleasant  to  look  upon  and  agreeable 
to  use.  Half  a  century  ago  ''craft"  was  not  the 
fashionable  word  for  the  kind  of  work  with  which 
the  firm  chiefly  concerned  itself,  and  in  doing  the 
greater  part  of  what  he  did  Morris  was  merely  writ- 
ing himself  down,  in  the  language  of  the  general 
public,  an  artisan.  Conforming  to  the  truest  of  prin- 
ciples he  raised  his  work  by  getting  under  it.  Noth- 
ing was  too  laborious  or  too  lowly  for  him.  Pride 
of  position  was  unknown  to  him  in  any  sense  that 
would  prevent  him  from  indulging  in  manual  labour. 
His  real  pride  lay  in  making  something  which  he 
considered  beautiful  take  the  place  of  something  ugly 
in  the  world.  If  it  were  a  fabric  to  be  made  lovely 
with  long  disused  or  unfamiliar  dyes,  his  hands  were 


PAINTED   WALL  DECORATRjN   DESIGNED   BY   MORRIS 


flDorris  anb  Company.  -]-] 

in  the  vat.  If  tapestry  were  to  be  woven,  he  was  at  the 
loom  by  dawn,  hi  his  workman's  blouse,  steeped 
in  indigo,  and  with  his  hair  outstanding  wildly,  he 
was  in  the  habit  of  presenting  himself  cheerfully  at  the 
houses  of  his  friends,  relying  upon  his  native  dignity 
to  save  appearances,  or,  to  speak  more  truly,  not 
thinking  of  appearances  at  all,  but  entirely  happy  in 
his  role  of  workman,  though  frankly  desirous  that 
the  business  should  prosper  beyond  all  danger  of  the 
"smash"  that  would,  he  owned,  "be  a  terrible 
nuisance."  "I  have  not  time  on  my  hands,"  he 
said,  "to  be  ruined  and  get  really  poor."  It  was  to 
the  peculiar  union  of  the  ideal  and  the  practical  in 
his  nature  that  his  success  in  the  fields  on  which  he 
ventured  is  due. 

It  must  be  admitted,  however,  that  while  his  soul 
and  vigour  found  vent  in  his  designing  and  in  the 
journeyman  work — "delightful  work,  hard  for  the 
body  and  easy  for  the  mind"  —  at  which  he  was  so 
ready  to  lend  a  hand,  his  artistic  product  lacked  some- 
what in  the  qualities  that  come  from  the  exercise  of 
the  higher  intellectual  gifts.  It  was  more  than  an  at- 
tempt to  revive  old  Gothic  forms;  it  was  an  adoption 
of  old  forms  with  an  infusion  of  modern  spirit;  but  it 
missed  the  native  and  personal  character  of  work 
growing  out  of  contemporaneous  conditions  and 
tastes.  Imaginative  craftsman  as  he  was,  Morris 
was  never  quite  an  artist  in  the  strict  sense  of  the 
word.  He  had  a  fine  sense  of  colour  and,  within 
certain   limits,  a  right  feeling  for  pattern;   but  his 


78  Milllam  flDorrie, 

invention  was  too  exuberant  for  repose,  and  he  dis- 
played in  the  greater  part  of  his  work  an  ornamental 
luxuriance  that  destroyed  dignity  and  simplicity  of 
effect.  He  did  not  like  the  restraints  of  art,  and  he 
seems  to  have  been  incapable  of  entering  the  sphere 
of  abstract  thought  in  which  the  principles  governing 
great  art  are  found.  "No  schools  of  art,"  he  says 
with  his  superbly  inaccurate  generalisation,  ''have 
ever  been  contented  to  use  abstract  lines  and  forms 
and  colours  —  that  is,  lines  and  so  forth  without  any 
meaning. "  Such  ornament  he  deemed  ' '  outlandish. " 
He  wanted  his  patterns,  especially  his  wall-paper 
patterns,  to  remind  people  of  pleasant  scenes:  "of 
the  close  vine  trellis  that  keeps  out  the  sun  by  the 
Nile  side;  or  of  the  wild  woods  and  their  streams 
with  the  dogs  panting  beside  them;  or  of  the  swal- 
lows sweeping  above  the  garden  boughs  toward  the 
house  eaves  where  their  nestlings  are,  while  the  sun 
breaks  the  clouds  on  them;  or  of  the  many-flowered 
summer  meadows  of  Picardy,"  —  all  very  charming 
things  to  think  about,  but  as  really  pertinent  to  wall- 
paper designing  as  the  pleasant  memory  of  a  hard 
road  with  a  fast  horse  speeding  over  it  would  be  to 
the  designing  of  a  carpet.  He  preached  the  closest 
observation  of  nature  and  the  most  delicate  under- 
standing of  it  before  attempting  conventionalisation, 
but  he  did  not  hesitate  to  break  all  the  laws  of  nature 
in  his  designs  when  he  happened  to  want  to  do  so. 
He  did  not  hesitate,  as  Mr.  Day  has  said,  to  make 
an  acorn  grow  from  two  stalks  or  to  give  a  lily  five 


flDorrla  anb  Company.  79 

petals.  Fitness  in  ornament  was  one  of  his  funda- 
mental principles,  and  he  made  his  designs  for  the 
place  in  which  they  were  to  be  seen  and  with  direct 
reference  to  the  limitations  of  opportunities  of  that 
place.  It  was  never  his  way  to  turn  a  wall-paper 
loose  on  the  market  for  any  chance  purchaser.  He 
must  know,  if  possible,  something  of  the  walls  to 
which  the  design  was  to  be  applied  and  of  the  room 
in  which  it  was  to  live,  and  he  then  adapted  his 
design  to  his  idea  of  what  was  required.  This  idea, 
however,  was  commonly  much  influenced  by  certain 
pre-conceived  theories.  He  believed,  for  example, 
that  there  should  be  a  sense  of  mystery  in  every  pat- 
tern designed.  This  mystery  he  tried  to  get,  not  by 
masking  the  geometrical  structure  upon  which  a  re- 
curring pattern  must  be  based,  but  by  covering  the 
ground  equably  and  richly,  so  that  the  observer  may 
not  ''be  able  to  read  the  whole  thing  at  once." 
Thus  many  of  his  designs  are  so  over-elaborated  as 
to  give  the  effect  of  restlessness,  whereas  "  rest  "  was 
the  word  oftenest  on  his  lips  in  connection  with  do- 
mestic art.  In  common  with  most  designers  who 
derive  their  ideals  from  medieval  sources,  he  was 
less  impressed  by  the  tranquillity  gained  from  calm 
clean  spaces,  the  measure,  order,  and  stateliness 
brought  about  by  the  simple  relation  of  abstract 
lines,  the  repose  of  the  rhythmical  play  of  mass  in 
perfect  proportion,  undisturbed  by  decorative  detail, 
than  by  the  charm  of  highly  vitalised  imagery.  But 
though  he  erred  on  the  side  of  luxuriance  —  while 


8o  MilUam  ni>orn6» 

preaching  simplicity  —  he  never  allowed  his  design 
to  sink  into  vulgarity  or  petty  picturesqueness.  He 
might  be  intricate  but  he  was  not  vague.  "Run 
any  risk  of  failure  rather  than  involve  yourself  in 
a  tangle  of  poor  weak  lines  that  people  can't  make 
out,"  he  says.  "  Definite  form  bounded  by  firm 
outline  is  a  necessity  for  all  ornament.  You  ought 
always  to  go  for  positive  patterns  when  they  may 
be  had."  They  might  always  be  had  from  him. 
And  it  is  due  to  his  positive  quality,  his  uncom- 
promising certainty  of  the  rightness  of  the  thing 
that  he  is  doing,  that  even  when  he  is  most  imi- 
tative he  gives  an  impression  of  originality,  and  is 
in  fact  original  in  the  sense  that  he  has  thought 
out  for  himself  the  methods  and  motives  of  the 
ancient  art  by  which  he  is  consciously  and  intention- 
ally influenced. 

Finish,  it  need  hardly  be  said,  was  not  prized  by 
him.  It  was  one  of  his  assumptions  that  "the  bet- 
ter is  the  enemy  of  the  good,"  and  he  preferred  the 
roughness  of  incompleteness  to  the  suavity  of  perfect 
workmanship.  He  dreaded  the  suggestion  of  the 
machine  that  lurks  in  the  polished  surface  and  the 
perfect  curve.  Nor  did  he  at  any  time  believe  in 
the  subdivision  of  labour  by  which  a  workman  learns 
to  do  one  thing  with  the  utmost  efficiency,  holding 
that  no  workman  could  enjoy  such  specialised  work, 
and  therefore,  of  course,  could  not  through  it  give 
pleasure  to  others.  The  following  is  the  creed 
which,  according  to  his  "compact  with  himself," 


PAINTED  WALL  DECORATION  DESIGNED  BY  MORRIS 


HDorris  an^  Company,  8i 

he  made  it  a  duty  to  repeat  when  he  and  his  fellow- 
men  came  together  to  discuss  art: 

''We  ought  to  get  to  understand  the  value  of 
intelligent  work,  the  work  of  men's  hands  guided  by 
their  brains,  and  to  take  that,  though  it  be  rough, 
rather  than  the  unintelligent  work  of  machines  or 
slaves  though  it  be  delicate;  to  refuse  altogether  to 
use  machine-made  work  unless  where  the  nature  of 
the  thing  compels  it,  or  where  the  machine  does 
what  mere  human  suffering  would  otherwise  have  to 
do;  to  have  a  high  standard  of  excellence  in  wares 
and  not  to  accept  make-shifts  for  the  real  thing,  but 
rather  to  go  without  —  to  have  no  ornament  merely 
for  fashion's  sake,  but  only  because  we  really  think 
it  beautiful,  otherwise  to  go  without  it;  not  to  live 
in  an  ugly  and  squalid  place  (such  as  London)  for 
the  sake  of  mere  excitement  or  the  like,  but  only 
because  our  duties  bind  us  to  it  —  to  treat  the  natural 
beauty  of  the  earth  as  a  holy  thing  not  to  be  rashly 
dealt  with  for  any  consideration;  to  treat  with  the 
utmost  care  whatever  of  architecture  and  the  like  is 
left  us  of  the  times  of  art." 

Wall-papers  were  among  the  earliest  staple  pro- 
ducts of  the  firm  in  Red  Lion  Square,  although  Morris 
always  regarded  them  in  the  light  of  a  compromise; 
an  altogether  unsatisfactory  substitute  for  the  hand- 
painting,  or  tapestry  or  silk  or  printed  cotton  hang- 
ings, which  he  considered  the  proper  covering  for  the 
bare  walls  which,  of  course,  no  one  not  in  ''an 
unhealthy  state  of  mind  and  probably  of  body  also" 


82  MlHlam  fIDorris, 

could  endure  to  leave  bare.  The  first  to  be  designed, 
the  Trellis  paper,  was  the  combined  work  of  Morris 
and  Webb,  the  former  being  responsible  for  the  rose- 
trellis  intended,  we  may  suppose,  to  bring  with  it 
pleasant  recollections  of  gardens  in  June  and  inspired 
by  his  own  sweet  garden  at  Upton,  the  latter  for  the 
birds  that  cling  to  the  lattice  or  dart  upward  among 
the  heavily  thorned  stems.  In  the  early  papers  the 
designs  were  very  simple  and  direct,  often  more 
quaint  than  beautiful,  as  in  the  case  of  the  well-known 
Daisy  paper,  and  depending  greatly  on  the  colouring 
for  the  attractiveness  they  possessed.  Later  came 
such  intricate  patterns  as  the  Pimpernel,  \\\t  Acanthus, 
so  elaborate  as  to  require  a  double  set  of  blocks  and 
no  less  than  thirty-two  printings,  and  the  paper  de- 
signed for  St.  James's  Palace,  as  large  and  magnificent 
as  the  environment  in  which  it  was  to  be  placed 
demanded.  It  is  quite  obvious  from  these  designs 
that  Morris  did  not  regard  his  wall-hangings  as  back- 
grounds but  as  decorations  in  themselves.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  he  did  not  fancy  pictures  for  his  walls. 
After  his  early  burst  of  enthusiasm  over  Rossetti's 
paintings  he  bought  few  pictures  if  any,  and  they  do 
not  seem  ever  to  have  entered  into  his  schemes  of 
decoration.  The  wall  of  a  room  was  always  impor- 
tant to  him,  and  despite  his  discontent  with  paper 
coverings  for  it,  he  was  anxious  to  have  such  cover- 
ings as  ornamental  as  possible,  admitting  them  to  be 
useful  "as  things  go,"  and  treating  them  in  con- 
siderable detail  in  his  lectures  on  the  decorative  arts. 


riDorris  anb  Company.  83 

He  advised  making  up  for  the  poverty  of  the  material 
by  great  thoughtfulness  in  the  design:  "The  more 
and  the  more  mysteriously  you  interweave  your 
sprays  and  stems,  the  better  for  your  purpose,  as  the 
whole  thing  has  to  be  pasted  tlat  upon  a  wall  and 
the  cost  of  all  this  intricacy  will  but  come  out  of  your 
own  brain  and  hand."  Concerning  colour  he  was 
equally  specific.  In  his  lecture  characteristically 
called  Making  the  Best  of  It,  in  which  with  an  accent 
of  discouragement  he  endeavours  to  show  his 
audience  how  at  the  time  of  his  speaking  to  make  a 
middle-class  home  "  endurable,"  he  lays  down  cer- 
tain rules  which  indicate  at  one  and  the  same  time 
his  mastery  of  his  subject  and  the  incommunicability 
of  right  taste  in  this  direction,  although  many  of  his 
ideas  may  be  pondered  to  great  advantage  by  even 
the  mind  untrained  in  colour  schemes.  He  begins 
with  his  usual  preliminary  statement  as  to  the  health 
of  those  who  disagree  with  him.  "Though  we  may 
each  have  our  special  preferences,"  he  says,  "among 
the  main  colours,  which  we  shall  do  quite  right  to 
indulge,  it  is  a  sign  of  disease  in  an  artist  to  have  a 
prejudice  against  any  particular  colour,  though  such 
prejudices  are  common  and  violent  enough  among 
people  imperfectly  educated  in  art,  or  with  naturally 
dull  perceptions  of  it.  Still  colours  have  their  ways 
in  decoration,  so  to  say,  both  positively  in  them- 
selves, and  relatively  to  each  man's  way  of  using 
them.  So  I  may  be  excused  for  setting  down  some 
things  1  seem  to  have  noticed  about  these  ways." 


84  MilUam  riDorria 

After  thus  establishing  friendly  relations  with  his 
audience,  he  instructs  them  that  yellow  is  a  colour 
to  be  used  sparingly  and  in  connection  with  "gleam- 
ing materials  "  such  as  silk;  that  red  to  be  at  its  finest 
must  be  deep  and  full  and  between  crimson  and 
scarlet;  that  purple  no  one  in  his  senses  would  think 
of  using  bright  and  in  masses,  and  that  the  best 
shade  of  it  tends  toward  russet;  green,  he  continues, 
must  seldom  be  used  both  bright  and  strong.  "  On 
the  other  hand,"  he  adds,  "  do  not  fall  into  the  trap 
of  a  dingy,  bilious-looking  yellow-green,  a  colour  to 
which  I  have  a  special  and  personal  hatred,  because 
(if  you  will  excuse  my  mentioning  personal  matters) 
I  have  been  supposed  to  have  somewhat  brought  it 
into  vogue."  Dingy  colours  were  abhorred  by  him 
in  all  cases,  and  his  patience  with  those  customers 
who  demanded  them  was  extremely  limited.  Blue 
was  his  ''holiday  colour,"  and  '' if  you  duly  guard 
against  getting  it  cold  if  it  tend  toward  red,  or  rank 
if  it  tends  toward  green,"  you  ''need  not  be  much 
afraid  of  its  brightness." 

From  his  hatred  of  mechanical  methods  grew  his 
preferences  among  the  lesser  arts.  He  once  com- 
plained that  he  never  could  see  any  scene  "with  a 
frame  as  it  were' around  it,"  and  the  less  necessity 
there  was  for  bounding  and  limiting  his  design  the 
happier  he  was  in  making  it.  Embroidery  he  loved, 
for  here  the  worker  had  an  almost  absolutely  free 
hand.  There  was  no  "excuse"  in  embroidery  for 
anything  short  of  striking  beauty.     "  It  is  not  worth 


''•m^M0^  i-*.*^ 


•  «  0 


R-    \ 


EARLY  DESIGN   FOR  MORRIS  WALL-PAPER  "  DAISY  AND  COLUMBINE" 


-•  ^v'^ 


A. 


CHRYSANTHEMUM   DESIGN   FOR  WALL-PAPER 


flDorrie  an^  Compan\>.  85 

doing,"  he  said,  "  unless  it  is  either  very  copious  and 
rich,  or  very  delicate  —  or  both.  For  such  an  art 
nothing  patchy  or  scrappy,  or  half-starved  should  be 
done."  Tapestry-weaving  stood  next  in  freedom  of 
method,  and  this  vv'as  not  only  a  favourite  art  with 
him,  but  one  which  he  carried  to  an  extraordinary 
degree  of  perfection,  he  and  Burne-Jones  combining 
their  designs  to  produce  results  coming  nearer  to  the 
old  Arras  effects  than  to  the  work  of  modern  weavers. 
In  tapestry-weaving  Morris  used  the  haute  lisse 
or  "  high  loom,"  the  weaver  holding  apart  with  his 
left  hand  the  threads  of  the  warp  which  stands  up- 
right before  him  as  with  his  right  hand  he  works  his 
bobbins  in  and  out,  seeing  the  picture  he  is  making 
in  a  mirror  placed  on  the  other  side  of  the  loom. 
The  interest  of  Morris  in  the  weaving  craft  is  said 
to  have  been  first  awakened  by  the  sight  of  a  man  in 
the  street  selling  toy  models  of  weaving  machines, 
one  of  which  he  promptly  bought  for  experimental 
purposes.  It  was  many  years  before  he  could  find  a 
full-sized  loom  of  the  kind  he  wanted,  which  had  be- 
come obsolete  or  nearly  so,  and  which  was  the  only 
style  of  loom  he  would  consider  using  as  it  was  most 
like  the  looms  on  which  the  splendid  fabrics  of 
mediaeval  times  had  been  woven.  By  such  diftkul- 
ties  he  was  rarely  baffled.  In  the  case  of  his  tapes- 
tries the  method  he  proposed  to  revive  had  died  out 
in  Cromwell's  time  and  there  was  no  working  model 
which  could  be  used  as  a  guide.  But  there  was  an 
old  French  official  handbook  that  came  in  his  way, 


86  Milliam  ni>orn0, 

from  which  he  was  able  to  pick  up  the  details  of  the 
craft  and  this  suftked.  His  personal  familiarity  with 
his  process  is  apparent  in  his  various  discussions  of 
it.  He  speaks  with  the  authority  of  a  workman 
whose  hand  has  held  the  tool.  This  practical  and 
positive  knowledge  saved  him  from  the  sentimental- 
ism  into  which  his  theories  might  otherwise  have 
led  him.  He  designed  his  patterns  fully  aware  of 
the  way  in  which  they  were  going  to  behave  in  the 
process  of  application.  When  in  1882  he  was  called 
upon  to  give  evidence  before  the  Royal  Commission 
appointed  to  inquire  into  the  subject  of  technical  in- 
struction, he  urged  the  necessity  of  this  working- 
knowledge  on  the  part  of  every  designer.  ''  1  think 
it  essential,"  he  said,  "that  a  designer  should  learn 
the  practical  way  of  carrying  out  the  work  for  which 
he  designs;  he  ought  to  be  able  to  weave  himself." 
In  all  his  talk  about  art  he  tried  to  tell  people  how  to 
do  only  the  things  he  himself  had  done,  in  which  he 
differed  widely  and  wholesomely  from  his  master 
Ruskin  whose  teachings  were  so  often  on  his  lips. 
The  activity  of  his  hand  was  a  needed  and  to  a  great 
extent  an  effective  check  upon  the  activity  of  his 
sentiment.  But  —  like  Ruskin  here  —  he  found  it 
hard  to  stay  long  away  from  the  moral  or  emotional 
significance  of  the  art  he  was  discussing.  The  art 
that  speaks  to  the  mind  he  did  not  completely  un- 
derstand. The  art  that  speaks  to  the  senses  he 
abundantly  explained.  The  amazingly  ingenious 
point  of  view  from  which  he  defends  his  preoccupa- 


fIDorrls  ant)  Company?.  87 

tion  with  what  he  has  named  ''the  lesser  arts"  is 
displayed  in  the  following  passage,  beginning  with 
the  almost  inevitable  formula: 

''A  healthy  and  sane  person  being  asked  with 
what  kind  of  art  he  would  clothe  his  walls,  might 
well  answer,  'with  the  best  art,'  and  so  end  the 
question.  Yet  out  on  it!  So  complex  is  human  life, 
that  even  this  seemingly  most  reasonable  answer 
may  turn  out  to  be  little  better  than  an  evasion.  For 
I  suppose  the  best  art  to  be  the  pictured  representa- 
tion of  men's  imaginings:  what  they  have  thought 
has  happened  to  the  world  before  their  time,  or 
what  they  deem  they  have  seen  with  the  eyes  of  the 
body  or  the  soul;  and  the  imaginings  thus  repre- 
sented are  always  beautiful  indeed,  but  oftenest  stir- 
ring to  men's  passions  and  aspirations  and  not  seldom 
sorrowful  or  even  terrible. 

"Stories  that  tell  of  men's  aspirations  for  more 
than  material  life  can  give  them,  their  struggle  for 
the  future  welfare  of  the  race,  their  unselfish  love, 
their  unrequited  service;  things  like  this  are  the  sub- 
jects for  the  best  art;  in  such  subjects  there  is  hope 
surely,  yet  the  aspect  of  them  is  likely  to  be  sorrow- 
ful enough:  defeat,  the  seed  of  victory,  and  death, 
the  seed  of  life,  will  be  shown  on  the  face  of  most 
of  them. 

"Take  note,  too,  that  in  the  best  art  all  these 
solemn  and  awful  things  are  expressed  clearly  and 
without  any  vagueness,  with  such  life  and  power 
that  they  impress  the  beholder  so  deeply  that  he  is 


S8  Milliain  flDorris, 

brought  face  to  face  with  the  very  scenes,  and  lives 
among  them  for  a  time:  so  raising  his  life  above  the 
daily  tangle  of  small  things  that  wearies  him  to  the 
level  of  the  heroism  which  they  represent.  This  is 
the  best  art,  and  who  can  deny  that  it  is  good  for  us 
all  that  it  should  be  at  hand  to  stir  the  emotions;  yet 
its  very  greatness  makes  it  a  thing  to  be  handled 
carefully,  for  we  cannot  always  be  having  our  emo- 
tions deeply  stirred:  that  wearies  us  body  and  soul; 
and  man,  an  animal  that  longs  for  rest  like  other  ani- 
mals, defends  himself  against  that  weariness  by 
hardening  his  heart  and  refusing  to  be  moved  every 
hour  of  the  day  by  tragic  emotions, — nay,  even  by 
beauty  that  claims  his  attention  overmuch.  Such 
callousness  is  bad,  both  for  the  arts  and  our  own 
selves,  and  therefore  it  is  not  so  good  to  have  the 
best  art  forever  under  our  eyes,  though  it  is  abun- 
dantly good  that  we  should  be  able  to  get  at  it  from 
time  to  time. 

"  Meantime,  1  cannot  allow  that  it  is  good  for  any 
hour  of  the  day  to  be  wholly  stripped  of  life  and 
beauty,  therefore  we  must  provide  ourselves  with 
lesser  (1  will  not  say  worse)  art  with  which  to  sur- 
round our  common  work-a-day  or  restful  times;  and 
for  those  times  1  think  it  will  be  enough  for  us  to 
clothe  our  daily  and  domestic  walls  with  ornament 
that  reminds  us  of  the  outward  face  of  the  earth,  of 
the  innocent  love  of  animals,  or  man  passing  his  days 
between  work  and  rest  as  he  does.  1  say  with  orna- 
ment that  reminds  us  of  these  things  and  sets  our 


ANEMONE  PATTERN   FOR  SILK  AND  WOOL  CURTAIN  MATERIAL 


flDorne  aut)  Company.  89 

minds  and  memories  at  work  easily  creating  them; 
because  scientific  representation  of  them  would  again 
involve  us  in  the  problems  of  hard  fact  and  the 
troubles  of  life,  and  so  once  more  destroy  our  rest 
for  us." 

Was  ever  a  craftsman  of  the  ancient  guilds  so  at 
pains  to  make  clear  the  propriety  and  usefulness  of 
his  wood-carving  or  enamelling  or  niello!  Like  the 
early  workman,  however,  he  moved  with  marvellous 
facility  from  one  branch  of  his  art  to  another.  From 
wall-papers  it  was  but  a  step  to  cotton  prints  which 
in  a  way  were  the  playthings  of  a  mind  at  leisure. 
They  might  be  as  gay  as  one  chose  to  make  them, 
and  "could  not  well  go  wrong  so  long  as  they 
avoided  commonplace  and  kept  somewhat  on  the 
daylight  side  of  nightmare."  From  the  weaving  of 
hangings  to  the  weaving  of  carpets  was  a  step  as 
easily  taken,  and  when  the  impulse  seized  him  to 
carry  on  the  great  but  dying  art  of  Persia  in  this 
direction,  Morris  so  effectively  applied  himself  to 
mastering  the  conditions  under  which  the  beautiful 
Eastern  carpets  were  brought  to  their  perfection  as 
to  produce  at  least  one  example  — that  called  The 
Bullcr's  Wood  Carpet  — \hdX  fairly  competes  with 
the  splendour  of  its  prototypes.  Stained  glass  for  a 
time  baffled  him.  "  His  was  not  the  temperament," 
says  one  of  his  critics,  "patiently  to  study  the 
chemistry  of  glass  colour;  or  to  prove  by  long  ex- 
periment the  dependence  to  be  placed  upon  a  tlux." 
Although  many  windows  were  made  by  the  tlrm, 


90  Milliam  riDorrle, 

the  larger  number  of  them  designed  by  Burne-Jones, 
Morris  being  responsible  for  the  colour,  he  never 
seemed  to  forget  that  he  had  come  near  to  being 
worsted  in  his  fight  with  the  technical  difficulties  of 
this  most  difficult  art,  and  economised  his  enthu- 
siasm for  it  accordingly.  Hand-painted  tiles,  how- 
ever, which  he  was  the  first  to  introduce  into 
England,  were  favourites  with  him,  and  in  them  he 
perpetuated  some  of  his  attempts  at  drawing  the 
human  figure.  Furniture,  though  an  important  feat- 
ure of  the  work  undertaken  by  the  firm,  did  not 
appeal  to  him,  and  he  left  it  to  his  associates.  His 
experiments  in  vegetable  dyes  produced  interesting 
results,  although  here  also  his  technical  knowledge 
was  not  entirely  adequate  to  his  task.  In  connection 
with  his  textile  work  he  early  felt  the  imperative 
necessity  of  having  finer  colours  than  the  market 
offered.  To  get  them  as  he  wanted  them  he  was 
obliged  to  go  back  as  far  as  Pliny,  but  this  was  a 
small  matter  to  one  whose  mind  was  always  ready 
to  provide  him  with  an  Aladdin's  carpet.  Back  to 
Pliny  he  went  to  learn  old  methods,  and  in  addition 
he  called  to  his  aid  ancient  herbals  and  French  books 
of  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries,  finally 
setting  up  his  own  vats  and  becks  and  very  literally 
plunging  in.  At  first  he  complained  of  "  looking 
such  a  beast,"  but  his  enthusiasm  soon  overcame  this 
rather  remarkable  display  of  concern  for  his  personal 
appearance,  and  he  wrote  most  joyously  of  working 
in  sabots  and  blouse  in  the  dye-house  "pretty  much 


< 


< 

u. 
O 

z 

O 

H 
ai. 
O 


flDorrie  anb  Company.  91 

all  day  long."  Out  of  his  vats  came  the  blue  of  his 
indigo,  the  red  of  his  madder,  the  yellow  of  weld  or 
Persian  berry,  the  rich  brown  of  walnut  juice,  mak- 
ing beautiful  combinations,  which,  when  they  faded, 
changed  into  paler  tints  of  the  same  colour  and  were 
not  unpleasant  to  look  upon.  The  aniline  dyes, 
which  in  i860  were  the  latest  wonder  of  science,  and 
in  a  very  crude  stage  of  their  development,  called  out 
his  most  picturesque  invective.  Each  colour  was 
hideous  in  itself,  crude,  livid,  cheap,  and  loathed  by 
every  person  of  taste,  the  "  foul  blot  of  the  capitalist 
dyer."  In  brief,  the  invention  supposed  to  be  for 
the  benefit  of  an  art  "the  very  existence  of  which 
depends  upon  its  producing  beauty"  was  ''on  the 
road;  and  very  far  advanced  on  it,  towards  destroy- 
ing all  beauty  in  the  art."  The  only  thing  to  do  was 
to  turn  one's  back  on  the  chemical  dyes,  relegate 
them  to  a  museum  of  scientific  curiosities,  and  go 
back  "  if  not  to  the  days  of  the  Pharaohs  yet  at  least 
to  those  of  Tintoret."  It  was  highly  characteristic  of 
him  that  he  chose  the  remedy  of  "going  back"  in 
place  of  progressing  with  the  new  material  as  far  as 
possible. 

His  work  with  silks  and  with  wools  was  naturally 
greatly  enriched  by  his  use  of  his  own  full,  soft  and 
brilliant  colours,  and  his  personal  attention  to  the  art 
of  dyeing  counted  for  so  much  that  one  of  his  most 
accomplished  pupils  in  embroidery  is  quoted  by  Mr. 
Mackail  as  saying  that  she  promptly  felt  the  difference 
when  Morris  ceased  to  dye  with  his  own  hands,  that 


92  Milliam  riDorris. 

the  colours  became  more  monotonous  and  prosy  and 
the  very  lustre  of  the  silk  was  less  beautiful.  It  is,  how- 
ever, difficult  to  impress  yourself  upon  the  public  pre- 
cisely as  you  are,  whatever  vigour  your  personality 
may  have.  Morris,  with  his  intense  love  of  bright  full 
hues,  has  come  down  as  the  promoter  of  the  so-called 
''  aesthetic  "  dulness  of  colour,  and  his  name  has  been 
especially  associated  with  the  peacock  blue  and  the 
*'  sage-green  "  to  which  he  had  an  especial  aversion. 
It  was  one  of  his  doctrines  that  a  room  should  be 
kept  cheerful  in  tone,  and  how  happily  he  could  carry 
out  this  doctrine  is  seen  in  more  than  one  of  the 
rooms  decorated  by  the  firm.  A  visitor  to  Stanmore 
Hall,  for  example,  has  noted  the  delicate  tones  of  the 
painted  ceilings  as  looking  like  embroidery  on  old 
white  silk,  giving  a  bright  yet  light  and  aerial  effect, 
and  forming  with  the  woodwork  of  untouched  oak 
an  impression  of  delightful  gayety. 

That  Morris  made  himself  a  master  of  so  many 
crafts  and  grappled  even  so  successfully  as  he  did 
with  the  technical  difficulties  involved  would  be 
somewhat  remarkable  had  he  attempted  none  of  the 
other  undertakings  in  which  he  gained  for  himself  a 
name  to  be  remembered.  His  eagerness  to  express 
his  ideals  in  a  practical  form  led  him  on  indefinitely. 
To  the  very  last  a  new  world  to  conquer  roused  his 
spirit  and  made  him  tingle  to  be  off.  For  a  man  with 
the  trace  of  the  plodder  in  him  such  a  career  would 
have  been  an  impossible  one,  but  Morris  went  blithely 
from  craft  to  craft  by  a  series  of  leaps  and  bounds. 


HDorris  aub  Company.  93 

He  stayed  with  each  just  lon<^  enoiii^^h  to  understand 
its  working  principles  and  to  make  himself  efficient  to 
teach  others  its  peculiar  virtues  and  demands,  and  he 
then  passed  on.  "  Each  separate  enterprise  on  which 
he  entered,"  says  one  of  his  biographers,  "seems 
for  a  time  to  have  moved  him  to  extraordinary 
energy.  He  thought  it  out,  installed  it,  set  it  going, 
designed  for  it,  trained  men  and  women  in  the  work 
to  be  done,  and  then  by  degrees,  as  the  work  began  to 
run  smoothly  and  could  be  trusted  to  go  on  without 
him,  his  interest  became  less  active  :  a  new  idea 
generated  in  his  mind,  or  an  old  one  burst  into  bud, 
and  his  energies  burst  out  afresh  in  some  new  doing." 
As  time  went  on  he  had  less  and  less  practically 
to  do  with  the  tlrm  of  which  he  was  the  head  and  of 
which  he  continued  to  the  end  to  be  the  consulting 
adviser.  He  gathered  about  him  cooperators  who 
not  only  were  sympathetic  v/ith  his  methods  but 
absorbed  his  style.  His  distinction  as  a  designer 
was  neither  so  great  nor  so  personal  that  it  could 
not  to  a  considerable  degree  be  communicated,  and 
this  accounts  for  the  enduring  quality  of  his  in- 
tluence  which  has  been  handed  down  to  us  through 
others  without  too  much  subtracted  from  it,  with 
many  of  the  characteristics  most  to  be  cherished  still 
present.  Greater  decorators  have  existed,  indeed, 
but  it  may  be  questioned  if  anyone  has  been  quite 
so  inspiriting;  has  had  the  matter  quite  so  much  at 
heart.  He  persuaded  the  multitude  from  the  inten- 
sity of  his  own  conviction,  and  he  persuaded  them 


94  MilUam  riDorns. 

on  the  whole  toward  good  things  and  toward  beauty. 
He  made  other  men's  ideas  his  own  but  he  adopted 
them  body  and  soul.  He  followed  his  own  fashion, 
inveighing  with  vigour  and  frequently  with  logic 
against  nearly  all  the  fashions  of  his  time.  It  is  not 
surprising  that  he  himself  became  the  great  fashion 
of  the  nineteenth  century  in  matters  of  decoration. 
And  this  certainly  was  what  he  wanted,  in  the  sense  of 
wanting  everyone  in  England  to  see  as  he  did  the 
possibilities  of  household  art  and  to  share  in  furthering 
them  by  turning  their  backs  upon  the  sham  art  with 
which  the  commercial  world  was  largely  occupied. 
But  he  made  no  effort  toward  gaining  the  patronage 
of  those  unwilling  to  admit  that  what  he  disliked 
was  intolerable.  His  was  never  a  conciliatory  policy. 
The  following  passage  from  his  lecture  on  The  Lesser 
Arts  reveals  his  attitude  in  his  own  phrasing: 

"  People  say  to  me  often  enough:  If  you  want  to 
make  your  art  succeed  and  flourish,  you  must  make 
it  the  fashion:  a  phrase  which  I  confess  annoys  me: 
for  they  mean  by  it  that  I  should  spend  one  day  over 
my  work  to  two  days  in  trying  to  convince  rich,  and 
supposed  influential  people,  that  they  care  very  much 
for  what  they  really  do  not  care  in  the  least,  so  that 
it  may  happen  according  to  the  proverb:  Bell-wether 
took  the  leap  and  we  all  went  over;  well,  such  ad- 
visers are  right  if  they  are  content  with  the  thing 
lasting  but  a  little  while:  say  till  you  can  make  a  lit- 
tle money,  if  you  don't  get  pinched  by  the  door 
shutting  too  quickly:  otherwise  they  are  wrong:  the 


SOFA   DESIGNED   BY  THE  MORRIS  CO. 
(Reproduced  bj>  courtesy  of  Mr.  BuJkley) 


• '  H  •  \ ' \r' !v.r'u 'u '  u "  •  \r •  m  'TTu 


*    ; . 


iMf  M-ri    >i,,u^,., 


"V'vi*^ASl-* 


SECRETARY   DESIGNED  BY  THE   MORRIS  CO. 
(Reproduced  by  courtesy  of  Mr.  Bulkier  J 


riDorn^  anb  (Lompanv\  95 

people  they  are  thinking  of  have  too  many  strings 
to  their  bow,  and  can  turn  their  backs  too  easily  on  a 
thing  that  fails,  for  it  to  be  safe  work  trusting  to 
their  whims:  it  is  not  their  fault,  they  cannot  help  it, 
but  they  have  no  chance  of  spending  time  enough 
over  the  arts  to  know  anything  practical  of  them, 
and  they  must  of  necessity  be  in  the  hands  of  those 
who  spend  their  time  in  pushing  fashion  this  way 
and  that  for  their  own  advantage. 

"  Sirs,  there  is  no  help  to  be  got  out  of  these  lat- 
ter, or  those  who  let  themselves  be  led  by  them:  the 
only  real  help  for  the  decorative  arts  must  come  from 
those  who  work  in  them:  nor  must  they  be  led,  they 
must  lead. 

*'You  whose  hands  make  those  things  that 
should  be  works  of  art,  you  must  all  be  artists,  and 
good  artists  too,  before  the  public  at  large  can  take 
real  interest  in  such  things;  and  when  you  have 
become  so,  1  promise  you  that  you  shall  lead  the 
fashion;  fashion  shall  follow  your  hands  obediently 
enough." 


CHAPTER  V. 
FROM  THE  RED  HOUSE  TO  KELMSCOTT. 

WHILE  Morris  was  developing  the  industries 
of  the  firm  with  essential  steadiness,  de- 
spite the  rapid  transitions  from  one  pur- 
suit to  another,  he  was  going  through  a  variety  of 
personal  experiences,  some  of  which  involved  his 
disappointment  in  deeply  cherished  plans.  For  one 
thing,  and  this  perhaps  the  most  grievous,  he  was 
obliged  to  give  up  the  Red  House  upon  which  so 
much  joyous  labour  had  been  spent.  Several  causes 
contributed  to  the  unhappy  necessity,  chief  among 
them  an  attack  of  rheumatic  fever  that  made  him 
sensitive  to  the  bleak  winds  which  the  exposed  situ- 
ation of  the  building  invited.  The  distance  between 
London  and  Upton  became  also  a  serious  matter 
after  his  illness,  as  he  found  it  almost  impossible  to 
m:]ke  the  daily  journeys  required  by  his  attention  to 
the  business.  Several  compromises  were  thought 
of,  the  most  enticing  being  the  removal  of  the  works 
from  Red  Lion  Square  to  Upton,  and  the  addition  of 

a  wing  to  the  Red  House  for  Burne-jones  and  his 

96 


jfrom  the  1Rc^  1bou6C  to  Ikclmscott       97 

family;  but  in  the  end  the  beautiful  house  was  sold, 
Morris,  after  leaving  it,  never  again  setting  eyes 
upon  it. 

The  first  move  was  to  Queen  Square,  London, 
where  Morris  and  the  business  became  house-mates 
in  the  autumn  of  1865,  remaining  together  there,  with 
more  or  less  interruption,  for  seven  years.  Queen 
Square  is  in  Bloomsbury,  not  far  from  the  British 
Museum,  and  a  part  of  the  ugly  London  middle-class 
region  for  which  Morris  had  so  little  liking,  but  as  a 
place  to  carry  on  the  rapidly  increasing  work  of  the 
firm  it  possessed  great  advantages.  The  number  of 
the  house  was  26,  and  adjacent  buildings  and  grounds 
were  used  for  the  workshops.  At  this  time  Mr. 
George  Warrington  Taylor  was  made  business  man- 
ager for  the  company,  and  Morris  gained  by  his 
accession  much  valuable  time,  not  only  for  designing 
and  experimenting,  but  for  the  literary  work  that 
again  began  to  claim  his  attention.  He  was  still, 
however,  a  familiar  figure  in  ''the  shop,"  acting  as 
salesman,  showman,  designer,  or  manual  labourer. 
His  aspect  as  he  strode  along  the  streets  of  the  dull 
neighbourhood  must  have  been  refreshing.  Those 
who  knew  him  have  repeatedly  described  him  as  the 
image  of  a  sea-captain  in  general  appearance.  He 
wore  habitually  a  suit  of  navy-blue  serge  cut  in 
nautical  fashion,  and  his  manner  was  bluff  and  hearty 
as  that  of  the  proverbial  seaman.  Mr.  Mackail  gives 
a  breezy  picture  of  him  in  his  workman's  blouse, 
hatless,   with   his   ruddy  complexion   and   rocking 


98  Milliam  riDorne. 

walk,  bound  for  the  Faulkners'  house  where  once 
upon  a  time  a  new  maid  took  him  for  the  butcher.  To 
have  seen  him  in  these  days  was  to  have  seen  one 
of  his  own  ideal  workmen  out  of  News  from  Nowhere. 
As  a  master  of  men  he  seems  to  have  been  singularly 
successful,  despite  the  temper  which  led  him  at 
times  to  commit  acts  of  positive  violence.  His 
splendid  zest  for  work  must  have  been  stimulating 
and  to  a  degree  contagious.  Merely  to  be  in  the 
company  of  one  who  thought  hearty  manual  labour 
so  interesting  and  so  pleasant  and  so  heartily  to  be 
desired  by  everyone,  must  have  had  its  vivifying 
effect.  He  was  stating  the  simple  truth  when  he 
said  that  he  should  die  of  despair  and  weariness  if 
his  daily  work  were  taken  from  him  unless  he  could 
at  once  make  something  else  his  daily  work,  and  he 
is  constantly  drawing  persuasive  pictures  of  the 
charm  of  the  various  handicrafts  —  that  of  weaving 
for  example,  his  description  of  which  would  invite 
the  most  discontented  mind.  He  does  not  call  the 
weaver's  craft  a  dull  one:  "  If  he  be  set  to  doing 
things  which  are  worth  doing  —  to  watch  the  web 
growing  day  by  day  almost  magically,  in  anticipa- 
tion of  the  time  when  it  is  to  be  taken  out  and  one 
can  see  it  on  the  right  side  in  all  its  well-schemed 
beauty  —  to  make  something  beautiful  that  will  last 
out  of  a  few  threads  of  silk  and  wool,  seems  to  me 
not  an  unpleasant  way  of  earning  one's  livelihood, 
so  long  only  as  one  lives  and  works  in  a  pleasant 
place,  with  work-day  not  too  long,  and  a  book  or 


ILLUSTRATION  BY  BURNE-JONES  FOR  PROJECTED  EDITION  OF  "THE 
EARTHLY  'RARADISE,"  CUT  ON   WOOD   BY   MORRIS   HIMSELF 


jfrom  tbc  1Rc^  1bou6c  to  Ikchiiecott       99 

two  to  be  got  at."  His  own  weavers  were  some  of 
them  boys  trained  in  the  shop  from  a  condition  of 
absolute  ignorance  of  drawing  and  of  the  craft  to 
such  an  efficiency  as  enabled  them  to  weave  the 
Stanmore  tapestry,  one  panel  of  which  took  two 
years  to  the  making,  and  which  was  of  the 
utmost  elaboration  and  magnificence  of  design. 
The  exigencies  of  the  business  presently  made 
it  necessary  to  devote  the  whole  of  the  premises  in 
Queen  Square  to  the  work  going  on  there,  and  the 
Morris  f:imily  removed  in  1872  to  a  small  house 
between  Hammersmith  and  Turnham  Green,  near 
Chiswick  Lane,  Morris  retaining  a  couple  of  rooms 
in  the  Queen  Square  house  for  his  use  when  busy 
there.  Even  the  extended  quarters  soon  proved  in- 
sufficient, however,  and  in  1877  rooms  were  taken  in 
Oxford  Street  for  showing  and  selling  the  work  of 
the  firm,  the  manufacturing  departments  being  still 
ensconced  in  Queen  Square.  In  1881  these  also 
were  transferred  to  more  suitable  premises.  The 
dyeing  and  cotton-printing  demanded  workshops  by 
the  side  of  some  stream  of  clear  water  "fit  to  dye 
with,"  and  after  much  search  Morris  found  an  ideal 
situation  on  the  banks  of  the  little  Wandle  River, 
near  Wimbledon.  There  were  the  ruins  of  Merton 
Abbey  where  the  Barons  once  gave  their  famous 
answer  "Nolumus  leges  Anglic  mutari,"  and  there 
manufictures  had  been  carried  on  for  centuries.  In 
the  long  low-roofed  worksheds  on  the  river's  bank 
his  workmen   could  move  about  in    ample   space, 


loo  MilUam  riDorns, 

practising  ancient  methods  of  dyeing,  printing,  and 
weaving,  seven  miles  from  Charing  Cross.  It  is 
anything  but  a  typical  manufactory  that  has  been 
depicted  by  visitors  to  the  Merton  Abbey  works. 
We  read  of  an  old  walled  garden  gay  with  old- 
fashioned  flowers  and  shrubs,  of  the  swift  little 
Wandle  River  rushing  along  between  the  buildings, 
its  trout  leaping  under  the  windows,  a  water-wheel 
revolving  at  ease,  hanks  of  yarn,  fresh  from  the  vats, 
drying  in  the  pure  air,  calico  lying  "clearing"  on 
the  meadow  grass  in  an  enclosure  made  by  young 
poplar  trees,  a  sunlit  picture  of  peaceful  work  carried 
on  by  unharried  workers  among  surroundings  of 
fresh  and  wholesome  charm.  Women  and  men 
were  both  employed,  some  of  them  old  and  not  all 
of  them  competent,  but  none  of  them  overworked  or 
underpaid.  Though  Morris  had  somewhat  scant 
courtesy  of  manner  toward  those  who  worked  for 
and  with  him,  he  had  at  least  the  undeviating  desire 
to  promote  their  welfare.  If  he  expected  work  of 
his  work-people,  as  certainly  he  did,  he  expected  it 
only  under  the  most  healthful  and  agreeable  condi- 
tions. Judging  others  by  himself,  he  could  not  con- 
ceive anyone  as  happy  in  idleness,  but  neither  did  he 
expect  anyone  to  be  happy  without  leisure.  In  his 
own  business  he  proved  what  the  nineteenth  century 
found  hard  to  believe,  that  honest,  thorough,  and 
artistic  workmanship,  accomplished  under  reasonable 
exactions  by  people  enjoying  their  occupation,  could 
be  combined  with  commercial  prosperity.    That  the 


^^uciH  AOi 


Kelmscott  Manor  House 


jfrom  tbc  IRcb  Ibouec  to  Ikchnecott.      loi 

products  of  such  labour  could  not  be  bought  by  the 
poorer  classes  was  due,  he  argued,  to  a  social  order 
wrong  at  the  root.  The  time  when  art  could  be 
made  "  by  the  people  and  for  the  people,  as  a  happi- 
ness to  the  maker  and  the  user,"  was  a  far-off  dream. 
Shortly  before  Morris  abandoned  Queen  Square 
as  a  place  of  residence,  he  discovered  for  himself  a 
"heaven  on  earth,"  in  which  he  could  spend  his 
vacations  from  town,  and  free  himself  from  the  con- 
tamination of  London  streets.  This  was  Kelmscott 
Manor  House,  which  he  rented  —  at  tirst  jointly  with 
Rossetti  —  in  1871,  and  in  which  he  took  infinite 
satisfaction  for  the  remainder  of  his  life.  The  beau- 
tiful old  place  was  in  its  way  as  characteristic  of  him 
and  of  his  tastes  as  the  Red  House  had  been,  and  has 
become  intimately  associated  with  him  in  the  minds 
of  all  who  knew  him  during  his  later  years,  his  pas- 
sion for  places  investing  those  for  which  he  cared 
with  a  sentiment  not  to  be  ignored  or  slighted  in 
making  up  the  sum  of  his  interests.  For  a  couple 
of  years  Rossetti  was  an  inmate  of  Kelmscott  Manor, 
and  through  his  letters  many  vivid  glimpses  of  it  are 
obtained.  The  village  of  Kelmscott  was  at  the  time 
no  more  than  a  hamlet  containing  a  hundred  and 
seventeen  people,  and  situated  two  and  a  half  miles 
from  the  nearest  town,  Lechlade,  to  whose  church- 
yard Shelley  lent  distinction  by  writing  a  poem  there. 
The  nearest  station-town  was  Farringdon,  so  far  off 
that  the  carrier  who  brought  railway  parcels  to  the 
occupants  of  the  Manor  charged  six  shillings  and 


LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  CF  CAUF 


I02  Milliain  HDorrb. 

sixpence  for  each  trip.  '*  Thus,"  writes  Rossetti,  who 
was  chronically  short  of  money,  "  a  good  deal  of  in- 
convenience tempers  the  attractions  of  the  place." 
Nothing,  however,  unless  the  presence  of  Rossetti, 
who  was  "  unromantically  discontented  "  there,  tem- 
pered them  for  Morris.  In  an  article  for  The  Qjiest 
for  November,  1895,  he  describes  the  house  in  the 
most  minute  detail,  accentuating  its  charms  with  a 
touch  of  comment  for  each  that  falls  like  a  caress. 
The  roofs  are  covered  with  the  beautiful  stone  slates 
of  the  district,  ''the  most  lovely  covering  which  a 
roof  can  have."  The  "battering"  or  leaning  back 
of  the  walls  is  by  no  means  a  defect  but  a  beauty, 
"  taking  from  the  building  a  rigidity  which  otherwise 
would  mar  it,"  and  the  stout  studded  partitions  of  the 
entrance  passage  are  "  very  agreeable  to  anyone 
who  does  not  want  cabinet  work  to  supplant  car- 
pentry." To  the  building  of  it  all  must  have  gone, 
he  thinks,  ''some  thin  thread  of  tradition,  a  half- 
anxious  sense  of  the  delight  of  meadow  and  acre  and 
wood  and  river,  a  certain  amount  (not  too  much,  let 
us  hope)  of  common-sense,  a  liking  for  making 
materials  serve  one's  turn,  and  perhaps  at  bottom 
some  little  grain  of  sentiment."  And  from  Rossetti 
we  hear  of  the  primitive  Kelmscott  church  "  looking 
just  as  one  fancies  chapels  in  the  Mort  d' Arthur," 
of  clouds  of  starlings  sinking  in  the  copses  "  clamour- 
ous like  mill-waters  at  wild  play,"  of  "  mustering 
rooks  innumerable,"  of  a  "delicious"  garden  and 
meadows  leading  to  the  river  brink,  of  apple  bios- 


%Z\\0V\   AOWVM   \\0-:iZ«\\'i^ 


Kelmscott  Manor  House 


jfroin  tbc  1I\C^  Ibousc  to  Ikclniscott      103 

soms  and  marigolds  and  arrow-heads  and  white  lilies 
''divinely  lovely,"  of  an  island  by  the  boat-house 
rich  in  wild  periwinkles,  and  of  many  another  ex- 
quisite aspect  of  a  place  whose  unvexed  quietness 
was  nevertheless  powerless  to  soothe  the  turmoil  of 
that  tormented  soul. 

To  realise  fully  how  Morris  himself  felt  toward  it, 
one  must  turn  to  his  description  in  Nrn's  from 
Nowhere.  There  he  is  supposed  to  see  it  through 
the  kindly  mist  of  time,  returning  to  it  from  a  regen- 
erate and  beautified  world,  and  his  problem  is  to 
write  of  it  with  the  penetrating  eloquence  and  mel- 
ancholy associated  with  remembered  happiness.  It 
is  supremely  characteristic  of  him  that  he  could  per- 
fectly strike  this  note  while  still  living  in  hale  activity 
upon  the  spot  he  is  to  praise  with  the  tenderness  of 
reminiscence.  The  great  virtue  of  his  temperament 
lay  in  this  peculiar  intensity  of  realisation.  He  needed 
neither  loss  nor  change  to  spur  his  sensibility  and 
awaken  his  recognition  of  the  worth  or  special  qual- 
ity of  what  he  loved.  Vital  as  few  men  are,  he  seems, 
nevertheless,  always  to  have  dwelt  in  sight  of  death 
and  to  have  grasped  life  as  though  the  next  moment 
he  was  to  be  torn  from  it.  The  burden  of  the  song 
which  Ogier  the  Dane  hears  on  a  fair  May  morning: 

Kiss  me  love!  for  who  knoweth 
What  thing  conieth  after  death  ? 

SO  often  quoted  in  evidence  of  his  f:iinting  and  de- 
jected spirit,  embodies  indeed  the  sentiment  of  his 
attitude  toward  the  pleasures  and  satisfactions  to  be 


I04  Milliant  riDorne. 

drawn  from  the  visible  and  perishable  world,  but 
does  not  hint  at  the  energy  with  which  he  seized 
those  pleasures,  the  sturdiness  with  which  he  filled 
himself  with  those  satisfactions.  When  News  from 
Nowhere  was  written,  Morris  had  lived  the  better 
part  of  twenty  years  in  close  relation  with  the  Kelm- 
scott  house,  but  custom  had  not  staled  for  him  its 
infinite  variety.  This  is  what  he  writes  of  it  and  of 
its  surroundings  in  his  romance  of  An  Epoch  of 
Rest:  He  and  his  companions  have  approached  it  by 
way  of  the  river. 

"  Presently  we  saw  before  us  a  bank  of  elm  trees, 
which  told  us  of  a  house  amidst  them.  In  a  few 
minutes  we  had  passed  through  a  deep  eddying  pool 
into  the  sharp  stream  that  ran  from  the  ford,  and 
beached  our  craft  on  a  tiny  strand  of  limestone 
gravel,  and  stepped  ashore. 

"Mounting  on  the  cart-road  that  ran  along  the 
river  some  feet  above  the  water,  I  looked  round 
about  me.  The  river  came  down  through  a  wide 
meadow  on  my  left,  which  was  grey  now  with  the 
ripened  seeding  grasses  ;  the  gleaming  water  was 
lost  presently  by  a  turn  of  the  bank,  but  over  the 
meadow  1  could  see  the  gables  of  a  building  where  1 
knew  the  lock  must  be.  A  low  wooded  ridge  bounded 
the  river-plain  to  the  south  and  south-east,  whence 
we  had  come,  and  a  few  low  houses  lay  about  its 
feet  and  up  its  slope.  I  turned  a  little  to  my  right 
and  through  the  hawthorn  sprays  and  long  shoots 
of  the  wild  roses  could  see  the  tlat  country  spreading 


Jfrom  the  IRcb  Ibouec  to  Ikehnscott      105 

out  far  away  under  the  sun  of  the  calm  evening, 
till  something  that  might  be  called  hills  with  a  hxjk 
of  sheep  pastures  about  them  bounded  it  with  a  soft 
blue  line.  Before  one,  the  elm  boughs  still  hid  most 
of  what  houses  there  might  be  in  this  river-side 
dwelling  of  men;  but  to  the  right  of  the  cart-road  a 
few  grey  buildings  of  the  simplest  kind  showed  here 
and  there. 

*'[  had  a  mind  to  say  that  1  did  not  know  the 
way  thither,  and  that  the  river-side  dwellers  should 
lead:  but  almost  without  my  will  my  feet  moved  on 
along  the  road  they  knew.  The  raised  way  led  us 
into  a  little  held  bounded  by  a  backwater  of  the  river 
on  one  side:  on  the  right  hand  we  could  see  a  clus- 
ter of  small  houses  and  barns  and  a  wall  partly  over- 
grown with  ivy,  over  which  a  few  grey  gables 
showed.  The  village  road  ended  in  the  shallow  of 
the  aforesaid  backwater.  We  crossed  the  road,  and 
again  almost  without  my  will  my  hand  raised  the 
latch  of  a  door  in  the  wall,  and  we  stood  presently 
on  a  stone  path  which  led  up  to  the  old  house  to 
which  f^ite  in  the  shape  of  Dick  had  so  strangely 
brought  me  in  this  world  of  men.  My  companion 
gave  a  sigh  of  pleased  surprise  and  enjoyment,  nor 
did  I  wonder,  for  the  garden  between  the  wall  and 
the  house  was  redolent  of  the  June  tlowers,  and  the 
roses  were  rolling  over  one  another  with  that  deli- 
cious superabundance  of  small  well-tended  gardens 
which  at  tlrst  sight  takes  away  all  thought  from  the 
beholder  save  that  of  beauty.     The  blackbirds  were 


io6  MilUam  riDorrie. 

singing  their  loudest,  the  doves  were  cooing  on  the 
roof-ridge,  the  rooks  in  the  high  ehn  trees  beyond 
were  garrulous  among  the  young  leaves,  and  the 
swifts  wheeled,  whining,  about  the  gables.  And  the 
house  itself  was  a  fit  guardian  for  all  the  beauty  of 
this  heart  of  summer. 

"Once  again  Ellen  echoed  my  thoughts  as  she 
said:  'Yes,  friend,  this  is  what  I  came  out  to  see; 
this  many-gabled  old  house  built  by  the  simple 
country-folk  of  the  long-past  times,  regardless  of 
all  the  turmoil  that  was  going  on  in  cities  and 
courts,  is  lovely  still  amidst  all  the  beauty  which 
these  latter  days  have  created;  and  I  do  not  wonder 
at  our  friends  'tending  it  so  carefully  and  making 
much  of  it.  It  seems  to  me  as  if  it  had  waited  for 
these  happy  days,  and  held  in  it  the  gathered  crumbs 
of  happiness  of  the  confused  and  turbulent  past.' 

"  She  led  me  up  close  to  the  house  and  laid  her 
shapely  sun-browned  hand  and  arm  upon  the  li- 
chened  wall  as  if  to  embrace  it,  and  cried  out:  '  O  me! ' 
O  me!  How  I  love  the  earth  and  the  seasons  and 
weather,  and  all  the  things  that  deal  with  it  and  all 
that  grows  out  of  it, — as  this  has  done! ' 

' '  We  went  in  and  found  no  soul  in  any  room  as  we 
wandered  from  room  to  room — from  the  rose-covered 
porch  to  the  strange  and  quaint  garrets  amongst 
the  great  timbers  of  the  roof,  where  of  old  time  the 
tillers  and  herdsmen  of  the  manor  slept,  but  which 
a-nights  seemed  now,  by  the  small  size  of  the  beds, 
and  the  litter  of  useless  and  disregarded  matters — 


jfrom  t\K  IRc^  Ibouee  to  Ikclinecott.      107 

bunches  of  dying  tlowers,  feathers  of  birds,  shells  ol 
starling's  eggs,  caddis  worms  in  mugs  and  the  like, — 
seemed  to  be  inhabited  for  the  time  by  children. 

''Everywhere  there  was  but  little  furniture,  and 
that  only  the  most  necessary,  and  of  the  simplest 
forms.  The  extravagant  love  of  ornament  which  I 
had  noted  in  this  people  elsewhere,  seemed  here  to 
have  given  place  to  the  feeling  that  the  house  itself 
and  its  associations  was  the  ornament  of  the  country 
life  amidst  which  it  had  been  left  stranded  from  old 
times,  and  that  to  reornament  it  would  but  take  away 
its  use  as  a  piece  of  natural  beauty. 

''We  sat  down  at  last  in  a  room  over  the  wall 
which  Ellen  had  caressed,  and  which  was  still  hung 
with  old  tapestry,  originally  of  no  artistic  value,  but 
now  faded  into  pleasant  grey  tones  which  harmon- 
ised thoroughly  well  with  the  quiet  of  the  place,  and 
which  would  have  been  ill  supplanted  by  brighter 
and  more  striking  decoration. 

"  1  asked  a  few  questions  of  Ellen  as  we  sat  there, 
but  scarcely  listened  to  her  answers,  and  presently 
became  silent,  and  then  scarce  conscious  of  anything 
but  that  1  was  there  in  that  old  room,  the  doves 
crooning  from  the  roofs  of  the  barn  and  dovecot 
beyond  the  window  opposite." 

In  1878  Morris  took  a  London  house  on  the  Upper 
Mall,  Hammersmith,  which  he  occupied  alternately 
with  Kelmscott  Manor.  This  place,  which  Mr. 
Mackail  describes  as  "ugly  without  being  mean," 


io8  Milliam  riDorrle. 

was  also  on  the  banks  of  the  river,  and  Morris 
gained  much  satisfaction  from  the  thought  that  the 
water  flowing  by  it  had  come  in  its  due  course  past 
the  beloved  Kelmscott  garden.  A  somewhat  incon- 
venient touch  of  sentiment  caused  him  to  give  his 
Hammersmith  home  the  name  of  Kelmscott  House  " 
in  compliment  to  the  home  actually  situated  at  Kelm- 
scott, the  latter  being  distinguished  by  the  title  of 
"  Manor,"  a  title  that  seems  to  belong  to  it  by  court- 
esy alone. 

From  the  great  fondness  felt  by  Morris  for  these 
places  on  which  he  lavished  his  art  until  they  spoke 
more  eloquently  than  his  words  of  the  aims  and 
theories  so  dear  to  him,  the  domesticity  of  his  life 
would  naturally  be  inferred.  Nor  was  he  an  eager  tra- 
veller judged  by  modern  standards.  Nevertheless,  he 
managed  to  find  time  for  some  extended  trips  just  as 
he  found  time  for  everything  that  came  in  his  way 
with  an  appeal  to  his  liking.  The  most  important  of 
these  was  a  voyage  to  Iceland,  made  in  company 
with  Faulkner  and  two  other  friends  during  the 
summer  of  1871,  just  after  the  acquisition  of  Kelm- 
scott Manor,  in  which  he  left  Rossetti.  His  mind 
was  ripe  for  the  experience.  He  had  already  pub- 
lished translations  from  the  Icelandic  sagas  made 
in  collaboration  with  Mr.  Magnusson,  and  his  interest 
in  the  bracing  Northern  literature  was  reaching  its 
height.  Long  years  after,  Rossetti  said  of  him,  "There 
goes  the  last  of  the  Vikings!  "  and  his  mood  in  visit- 
ing Iceland  was  not  unlike  that  of  a  modernised 


jfroin  the  lRct>  Ibousc  to  Ikclinscott.      109 

Viking  returning  to  his  home.  Thoughts  of  the 
country's  great  past  were  constantly  with  liim.  The 
boiling  geysers,  the  conventional  attraction  for  tour- 
ists who  ''never  heard  the  names  of  Sigurd  and 
Brunhild,  of  Njal,  or  Gunnar,  or  Grettir,  or  Gisli,  or 
Gudrun,"  were  a  source  of  irritation  to  him.  His 
pilgrimages  to  the  homes  of  the  ancient  traditions 
were  the  episodes  of  his  journey  worth  thinking 
about,  and  about  them  he  thought  much  and  vigor- 
ously, seeing  in  imagination  the  tlgures  of  the  old 
heroes  going  about  summer  and  winter,  attending  to 
their  haymaking  and  tlshing  and  live  stock,  eating 
almost  the  same  food  and  living  on  the  same  ground 
as  the  less  imposing  Norsemen  of  the  present. 
"Lord!"  he  writes,  "what  littleness  and  helpless- 
ness has  taken  the  place  of  the  old  passion  and 
violence  that  had  place  here  once — and  all  is  unfor- 
gotten;  so  that  one  has  no  power  to  pass  it  by 
unnoticed."  His  two  months  spent  among  the 
scenes  of  the  greater  sagas  left  him  with  an  intense 
impression  of  a  land  stern  and  terrible,  of  toothed 
rocks  and  black  slopes  and  desolate  green,  a  land 
that  intensified  his  melancholy  by  its  suggestion  of 
short-lived  glory  and  early  death,  and  intensitied 
also  his  enjoyment  of  life  by  the  sense  of  adventure, 
the  rugged  riding,  and  the  fresh  keen  air.  One  of 
the  important  events  of  the  trip  was  the  exploration 
of  the  great  cave  at  Surts-hellir,  and  twenty  years 
after,  many  of  its  incidents  were  embodied  in  the 
book  called  The  Story  of  the  Glittering  Plain,  wherein 


no 


Milliam  riDorris, 


Hallblithe  and  the  three  Seekers  make  their  way 
through  the  stony  tangle  of  the  wilderness  seeing 
"  nought  save  the  wan  rocks  under  the  sun." 

Two  years  later  he  made  a  still  more  adventurous 
journey  across  the  arid  tableland  occupying  the 
central  portion  of  Iceland  and  across  the  northern 
mountains  to  the  sea.  It  was  highly  characteristic 
of  him  that  for  the  time  he  yielded  himself  utterly  to 
the  influence  of  the  strange  and  awful  land  upon  his 
imagination,  and  that  for  years  afterward  his  writing 
was  flooded  by  the  impressions  that  continually 
swept  back  upon  his  mind  as  he  reverted  to  these 
experiences.  Mr.  Mackail  gives  an  amusing  instance 
of  the  way  in  which  the  interest  uppermost  with  him 
became  an  obsession  leading  to  the  most  childlike 
extravagances.  During  a  holiday  tour  in  Belgium  he 
came  to  a  place  where  neither  French  nor  English  was 
spoken.  He  therefore  "made  a  desperate  effort  at 
making  himself  understood  by  haranguing  the  amazed 
inn-keeper  in  Icelandic."  His  first  visit  to  Italy,  made 
between  the  first  and  second  visits  to  Iceland,  took 
faint  hold  upon  him,  nor  was  the  second  Italian 
journey,  made  some  years  later,  and  marked  by  a 
troublesome  attack  of  gout,  notably  successful.  He 
was  a  man  of  the  North  as  surely  as  Rossetti  was  a 
man  of  the  South,  and  it  would  have  been  a  renais- 
sance indeed  that  could  have  turned  him  into  a 
Florentine  or  a  Venetian. 

During  this  middle  period  of  his  life,  at  the  height 
of  his  great  activity,  an  event  occurred  involving  the 


o 


a: 


U 


o 


±    uj 


a; 

5: 


r. 
r. 

O 
>- 
z 


Jfrom  tbc  1Rc^  1bou9c  to  Ikclniscott. 


1 1 1 


element  of  tragedy,  if  the  breaking  of  friendships  be 
accounted  tragic,  hi  1875  the  firm  was  dissolved. 
Following  Mr.  Mackail's  account  of  the  circumstances 
that  led  to  the  dissolution,  we  find  that  the  business 
had  become  one  in  which  Morris  supplied  prac- 
tically all  the  capital,  invention,  and  control.  It  was 
also  the  chief  source  of  his  income.  On  the  other 
hand,  his  partners  might  fmd  themselves  at  any  time 
seriously  involved  in  the  liabilities  of  a  business 
which  was  rapidly  extending.  Hence  the  desira- 
bility of  the  dissolution  and  reconstitution  of  the 
firm.  But  in  connection  with  this  step  an  embar- 
rassing situation  arose.  Under  the  original  instru- 
ment, each  partner  had  equal  rights  in  the  assets  of 
the  firm.  After  the  first  year  or  two  the  profits  had 
never  been  divided,  and  the  six  partners  of  Morris, 
for  the  hundred  and  twenty  pounds  by  which  they 
were  represented  in  the  contributed  capital  at  the 
beginning,  had  now  claims  on  the  business  for  some 
seven  or  eight  thousand  pounds.  If  these  claims 
were  insisted  upon,  Morris  would  be  placed  in  a  po- 
sition of  considerable  financial  difficulty.  Burne- 
Jones,  Webb,  and  Faulkner  refused  to  accept  any 
consideration.  ''The  other  three,"  says  Mr.  Mackail, 
"stood  on  the  strict  letter  of  their  legal  rights." 
Naturally  the  relations  between  Morris  and  the  latter 
became  grievously  strained,  and  with  Rossetti  the 
break  was  absolute  and  irremediable.  In  passing 
out  of  Morris's  life,  as  he  then  did,  he  certainly  left  it 
more  serene,  but  with  him  went  also  the  vivifying 


1  12 


MtlUam  riDorrie, 


influence  of  his  genius.  In  considering  the  very  un- 
fortunate part  played  by  him  in  the  conflict  among  the 
members  of  the  Arm,  it  is  fair  to  give  a  certain  weight 
to  details  emphasised  in  Mr.  William  Rossetti's  ac- 
count as  modifying — to  a  slight  degree,  it  is  true,  but 
still  modifying — the  sordid  aspect  of  Rossetti's  action. 
Madox  Brown,  who  was  one  of  the  partners  wishing 
not  to  forego  their  legal  rights,  was  getting  on  in 
years  and  was  a  comparatively  poor  man.  He  had 
always  counted  on  the  firm  "  as  an  important  event- 
ual accession  to  his  professional  earnings."  No  one 
familiar  with  Rossetti's  character  can  doubt  that  a 
desire  to  stand  by  his  old  friend  and  teacher  in  such 
a  matter  would  have  a  strong  influence  with  him. 
To  his  brother's  mind,  his  attitude  was  throughout 
"one  of  conciliation,"  with  the  wish  "to  adjust  con- 
tending claims  had  that  but  been  possible."  "He 
himself,"  says  Mr.  William  Rossetti,  "  retired  from 
the  Arm  without  desiring  any  compensation  for  his 
own  benefit.  A  sum  was,  however,  assigned  to 
him.  He  laid  it  apart  for  the  eventual  advantage  of 
a  member  of  the  Morris  family,  but,  ere  his  death, 
circumstances  had  induced  him  to  trench  upon  it  not 
a  little."  it  is  easy  to  imagine  circumstances  trench- 
ing upon  any  sum  of  money  under  Rossetti's  direct 
control,  and  in  the  absence  of  any  testimony  the 
reader  acquainted  with  his  prodigal  disposition  may 
very  well  be  pardoned  for  doubting  whether  any 
member  of  the  Morris  family  became  appreciably  the 
richer  for  his  impulse.    Nevertheless,  it  is  a  reason- 


jfrom  tbc  1Rc^  1bou6c  to  Ikcltnscott      113 

able  conclusion  that  he  was  not  actuated  by  a  sordid 
motive  in  opposing  the  essentially  just  claim  made 
by  Morris,  but  was  to  his  own  mind  acting  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  demands  of  a  friendship  older  and 
closer  than  that  between  him  and  Morris.  It  must 
be  noted,  however,  that  a  reconciliation  was  effected 
in  the  course  of  time  between  Morris  and  Madox 
Brown,  while  in  Rossetti's  case  the  wound  never 
healed.  The  outcome  of  the  negotiations  was  that 
Madox  Brown  was  bought  out,  "receiving  a  hand- 
some sum,"  says  Mr.  William  Rossetti,  and  the 
business  went  on  under  the  sole  management  and 
proprietorship  of  Morris. 

In  addition  to  the  annoyance  and  real  trouble  of 
mind  caused  Morris  by  these  transactions,  he  had 
the  further  anxiety  at  about  this  time  of  a  breakdown 
of  a  serious  and  permanent  nature  in  the  health  of 
his  eldest  daughter.  This  he  took  deeply  to  heart, 
losing  spirits  to  a  marked  degree,  but  nothing  human 
had  power  to  stay  his  fertile  brain  and  busy  hand. 


CHAPTER  VI. 
POETRY. 


INTENT  as  he  was  upon  the  artistic  success  of  his 
work  in  decoration,  and  ardent  in  giving  time 
and  thought  to  achieving  this  success,  Morris 
was  far  from  excluding  poetry  from  the  sum  of  his 
occupations.  The  five  years  following  his  marriage 
(1859-1864),  indeed,  were  barren  of  any  important 
literary  work.  He  had  planned,  somewhat  antici- 
pating the  large  scale  of  his  later  verse,  a  cycle  of 
twelve  poems  on  the  Trojan  War,  but  he  completed 
only  six  of  the  twelve,  and  the  project  was  presently 
abandoned.  After  the  Red  House  was  sold,  how- 
ever, and  he  was  back  in  London  with  the  time  on 
his  hands  saved  from  the  daily  journey,  he  began  at 
once  to  make  poetry  of  a  form  entirely  different  from 
anything  he  had  previously  written.  The  little  sheaf 
of  poems  contained  in  his  early  volume  had  been  put 
together  by  the  hand  of  a  boy.  The  poem  published 
in  June,  1867,  under  the  title  The  Life  and  Death  of 
Jason,  was  the  work  of  a  man  in  full  possession  of 
his  faculty.    It  was  simple,  certain,  musical,  and  pre- 

i'4 


Morris's  Bed,  with  Hangings  desip^ned  hy  himself 
and  embroidered  by  his  Daughter 


Ipoetrv^  1 1 5 

destined  to  speedy  popularity,  even  Tennyson,  with 
whom  Morris  was  not  a  favourite,  liking  the  Jason. 
It  flowed  with  sustained  if  monotonous  sweetness 
through  seventeen  books  in  rhymed  pentameter,  oc- 
casionally broken  by  octosyllabic  songs.  Although 
published  as  a  separate  poem,  on  account  of  the 
length  to  which  it  ran,  apparently  almost  in  despite 
of  its  author's  will,  it  had  been  intended  to  form  part 
of  the  series  called  The  Earthly  Paradise,  the  first  di- 
vision of  which  followed  it  in  1868.  This  ambitious 
work  was  suggested  by  Chaucer's  Canterbury  Tales, 
and  consists  of  no  fewer  than  twenty-four  long  narrat- 
ive poems,  set  in  a  framework  of  delicate  descriptive 
verse  containing  passages  that  are  the  very  flower  of 
Morris's  poetic  charm.  The  scheme  of  the  arrange- 
ment is  interesting.  A  little  band  of  Greeks,  "the 
seed  of  the  Ionian  race,"  are  found  living  upon  a 
nameless  island  in  a  distant  sea.  Hither  at  the  end  of 
the  fourteenth  century — the  time  of  Chaucer — come 
certain  wanderers  of  Germanic,  Norse,  and  Celtic 
blood  who  have  set  out  on  a  voyage  in  search  of  a 
land  that  is  free  from  death,  driven  from  their  homes 
by  the  pestilence  sweeping  over  them.  Hospit- 
ably received,  the  wanderers  spend  their  time  upon 
the  island  entertaining  their  hosts  with  the  legends 
current  in  their  day  throughout  Western  Europe, 
and  in  turn  are  entertained  with  the  Hellenic  legends 
which  have  followed  the  line  of  living  Greek  tradi- 
tion and  are  told  by  the  fourteenth-century  islanders 
in  the  mediaeval  form  and  manner  proper  to  them  at 


ii6  Milliam  flDorde. 

that  time.  Among  the  wanderers  are  a  Breton  and 
a  Suabian,  and  the  sources  from  which  the  stories 
are  drawn  have  a  wide  range.  They  were  at  first, 
indeed,  intended  to  represent  the  whole  stock  of  the 
world's  legends,  but  this  field  was  too  vast  for  even 
the  great  facility  of  Morris,  and  much  was  set  aside. 
At  the  end  we  find  The  Lovers  of  Gudrun,  taken 
from  the  Laxdasla  Saga  of  Iceland,  and  bearing  wit- 
ness in  the  grimness  of  its  tragedy  and  the  fierceness 
of  its  Northern  spirit  to  the  powerful  influence  of  the 
Icelandic  literature  upon  the  mind  of  Morris.  It  is 
the  only  story  in  the  collection  which  has  dominated 
his  dreamy  mediasvalism  and  struck  fire  from  his  pen. 
In  The  Earthly  Paradise  we  have  all  the  qualities 
that  make  its  author  dear  to  most  of  his  readers. 
The  mind  is  steeped  in  the  beauty  of  imagery,  and 
content  to  have  emotion  and  thought  lulled  by  the 
long,  melancholy  swing  of  lines  that  seem  like  the 
echo  of  great  poetry  without  its  living  voice.  Such 
poetry  is  what  Morris  wished  his  decorations  to  be 
—  the  "  lesser  art  "  that  brings  repose  from  the  quick- 
ening of  soul  with  which  a  masterpiece  is  greeted. 
The  spirit  revealed  through  the  fluent  murmur  of  the 
melodious  words  is  very  true  to  him  and  lies  at  the 
root  of  all  his  efforts  toward  making  life  fair  to 
the  eyes  and  soothing  to  the  heart.  The  "  unimpas- 
sioned  grief,"  the  plaintive  longing  with  which  he  re- 
garded the  fleeting  and  unsatisfying  aspects  of  a  world 
so  beautiful  and  so  sorrowful,  never  found  more  ex- 
quisite expression  than  in  passage  after  passage  of 


this  pellucid  and  lovely  verse.  The  tlioht  from  death 
and  the  seeking  after  eternal  life  on  this  material 
globe  constitute  a  theme  that  had  for  him  a  singular 
fitness.  No  one  could  have  rendered  with  more 
sensitive  appreciation  the  mood  of  men  who  set 
their  life  at  an  unmeasured  price.  No  one  could  have 
expressed  the  dread  of  dying  with  more  poetic  sym- 
pathy. The  preludes  to  the  stories  told  on  the  island 
are  poems  addressed  to  the  months  of  the  changing 
year,  and  not  one  is  free  from  the  grievous  sugges- 
tion of  loss  or  the  weary  burden  of  fear  and  dejection. 
Read  without  the  intervening  narratives,  they  wrap 
the  mind  in  an  atmosphere  of  foreboding.  There  is 
no  welcome  unaccompanied  by  the  shadow  of  fare- 
well. There  is  no  leaping  of  the  heart  to  meet  sun- 
shine and  fair  weather  without  its  corresponding 
faintness  of  shrinking  from  the  clouds  and  darkness 
certain  to  follow.  With  a  brave  determination  to 
seize  exultation  on  the  wing,  he  cries  to  March: 

Yea,  welcome  March!  and  though  I  die  ere  June, 
Yet  for  the  hope  of  life  I  give  thee  praise, 
Striving  to  swell  the  burden  of  the  tune 
That  even  now  1  hear  thy  brown  birds  raise, 
Unmindful  of  the  past  or  coming  days; 
Who  sing:   "Ojoy!  a  new  year  is  begun: 
What  happiness  to  look  upon  the  sun!" 

But  what  follows  ?   The  sure  reminder  of  the  silence 
that  shall  come  after  the  singing: 

Ah,  what  begetteth  all  this  storm  of  bliss 
But  Death  himself,  who  crying  solemnly, 


ii8  MilUam  noorris. 

E'en  from  the  heart  of  sweet  Forgetfulness, 
Bids  us  "  Rejoice,  lest  pleasureless  ye  die. 
Within  a  little  time  must  ye  go  by. 
Stretch  forth  your  open  hands,  and  while  ye  live 
Take  all  the  gifts  that  Death  and  Life  may  give." 

And  in  the  stanzas  for  October,  written,  Mr.  Mackail 
tells  us,  in  memory  of  a  happy  autumn  holiday, 
we  have  the  most  poignant  note  of  which  he  was 
capable: 

Come  down,  O  Love;  may  not  our  hands  still  meet, 
Since  still  we  live  to-day,  forgetting  June, 
Forgetting  May,  deeming  October  sweet — 
— O  hearken,  hearken!  through  the  afternoon. 
The  grey  tower  sings  a  strange  old  tinkling  tune  I 
Sweet,  sweet,  and  sad,  the  toiling  year's  last  breath. 
Too  satiate  of  life  to  strive  with  death. 

And  we  too — will  it  not  be  soft  and  kind, 
That  rest  from  life,  from  patience  and  from  pain; 
That  rest  from  bliss  we  know  not  when  we  find; 
That  rest  from  Love  which  ne'er  the  end  can  gain  ? — 
Hark,  how  the  tune  swells,  that  erewhile  did  wane? 
Look  up,  Love! — ah,  cling  close  and  never  move! 
How  can  I  have  enough  of  life  and  love  "^ 

June,  the  high  tide  of  the  year,  he  selects  as  the 
fitting  month  in  which  to  tell  of  something  sad: 

Sad,  because  though  a  glorious  end  it  tells, 
Yet  on  the  end  of  glorious  life  it  dwells. 

in  February  he  asks: 

Shalt  thou  not  hope  for  joy  new  born  again, 

Since  no  grief  ever  born  can  ever  die 

Through  changeless  change  of  seasons  passing  by? 


Vi^LA-^^O  %v^^  moA^  viwcM  '\(i\\YM  ^^o':i'iN\\^i>\ 


Kelmscott  Manor  House  from  the  Orchard 


poetry.  119 

Thus  across  the  charming  images  of  French  ro- 
mance, Hellenic  legend,  and  Norse  drama,  falls  the 
suggestion  of  his  own  personality,  and  it  is  due  to 
this  pervading  personal  mood  or  sentiment  that  The 
Earthly  Paradise  has  a  power  to  stir  the  imagination 
almost  wholly  lacking  to  his  later  work.  It  cannot 
be  said  that  even  here  he  is  able  to  awaken  a  strong 
emotion.  But  the  human  element  is  felt.  A  warm 
intelligence  of  sympathy  creeps  in  among  dreams 
and  shadows,  the  reader  is  aware  of  a  living 
presence  near  him  and  responds  to  the  appeal  of 
human  weakness  and  depression.  It  is  because 
Morris  in  the  languid  cadences  of  The  Earthly 
Paradise  spoke  with  his  own  voice  and  took  his 
readers  into  the  confidence  of  his  hopeless  thoughts, 
that  the  book  will  remain  for  the  multitude  the  chief 
among  his  works,  the  only  one  that  portrays  for  us 
in  its  most  characteristic  form  the  inmost  quality  of  his 
temperament.  Nor  does  he  seem  to  have  had  for  any 
other  book  of  his  making  quite  the  intimate  affection 
he  so  frankly  bestowed  upon  this.  The  final  stanzas 
in  which  the  well-known  message  is  sent  to  "my 
Master,  Geoffrey  Chaucer,"  confide  the  autobio- 
graphic vein  in  which  it  was  written.  Says  the  Book 
of  its  maker: 


I  have  beheld  him  tremble  oft  enough 

At  things  he  could  not  choose  but  trust,  to  me, 

Although  he  knew  the  world  was  wise  and  rough: 

And  never  did  he  fail  to  let  me  see 

His  love, — his  folly  and  faithlessness,  maybe; 


i^o  Mllliam  riDorne. 

And  stil!  in  turn  I  gave  him  voice  to  pray 
Sucii  prayers  as  cling  about  an  empty  day. 

Thou,  keen-eyed,  reading  me,  mayst  read  him  through, 

For  surely  little  is  there  left  behind; 

No  power  great  deeds  unnameable  to  do; 

No  knowledge  for  which  words  he  may  not  find; 

No  love  of  things  as  vague  as  autumn  wind — 

Earth  of  the  earth  lies  hidden  by  my  clay, 

The  idle  singer  of  an  empty  day. 

Written  at  great  speed,  one  day  being  marked  by 
a  product  of  seven  hundred  lines,  the  last  of  The 
Earthly  Paradise  was  in  the  hands  of  the  printers  by 
the  end  of  1870,  and  Morris  was  free  for  his  Icelandic 
journey  and  new  interests. 

He  was  no  sooner  home  from  Iceland  than  he  set 
to  work  upon  a  curious  literary  experiment — a  dra- 
matic poem  of  very  complicated  construction,  called 
Love  is  Enough,  or  tlie  Freeing  of  Pharamond:  A 
Morality,  the  intricate  metrical  design  of  which  is 
interestingly  explained  by  Mr.  Mackail.  Rossetti  and 
Coventry  Patmore  both  spoke  in  terms  of  enthusi- 
asm of  its  unusual  beauty.  The  story  is  that  of  a 
king,  Pharamond,  who  has  been  gallant  on  the  field 
and  wise  on  the  throne,  but  is  haunted  by  visions  of 
an  ideal  love  sapping  his  energy  and  driving  peace 
from  his  heart.  He  deserts  his  people,  and  with  his 
henchman,  Oliver,  wanders  through  the  world  until 
he  encounters  Azalais,  a  low-born  maiden,  who  sat- 
isfies his  dream.  He  returns  to  find  that  his  people 
have  become  estranged  from  him  and  he  abdicates  at 
once,  to  retire  into  obscurity  with  his  love.     There 


Portrait  of  Edward  Burne-Jones 

By  IVatts 


Ipoctr\>. 


I  21 


has  been  an  obvious  strugf^le  on  the  part  of  the  poet 
to  obtain  a  strong  emotional  effect,  and  certain  pas- 
sages have  indeed  the  "passionate  lyric  ciuality " 
ascribed  to  them  by  Rossetti  ;  but  as  a  drama  it 
hardly  carries  conviction.  The  songs  written  to  be 
sung  between  the  scenes  have  nevertheless  much  of 
the  haunting  beauty  soon  to  be  lost  from  his  work, 
and  of  these  the  following  is  a  felicitous  example  : 

Love  is  enough:  it  grew  up  without  heeding 

In  the  days  when  ye  knew  not  its  name  nor  its  measure, 
And  its  leaflets  untrodden  by  the  light  feet  of  pleasure 

Had  no  boast  of  the  blossom,  no  sign  of  the  seeding, 

As  the  morning  and  evening  passed  over  its  treasure. 

And  what  do  ye  say  then  ? — that  Spring  long  departed 

Has  brought  forth  no  child  to  the  softness  and  showers; 
That   we  slept  and  we  dreamed  through  the  Summer  of 
flowers; 

We  dreamed  of  the  Winter,  and  waking  dead-hearted 
Found  Winter  upon  us  and  waste  of  dull  hours. 

Nay,  Spring  was  o'er  happy  and  knew  not  the  reason, 

And  Summer  dreamed  sadly,  for  she  thought  all  was  ended 
In  her  fulness  of  wealth  that  might  not  be  amended. 

But  this  is  the  harvest  and  the  garnering  season, 

And  the  leaf  and  the  blossom  in  the  ripe  fruit  are  blended. 

It  sprang  without  sowing,  it  grew  without  heeding, 

Ye  knew  not  its  name  and  ye  knew  not  its  measure, 
Ye  noted  it  not  'mid  your  hope  and  your  pleasure; 

There  was  pain  in  its  blossom,  despair  in  its  seeding, 
But  daylong  your  bosom  now  nurseth  its  treasure. 

Although  Morris  planned  a  beautifully  decorated 
edition  of  the  poem  which  was  highly  valued  by 
him,  its  failure  to  impress  itself  upon  the  public  was 


122  Mllliam  flDorrle. 

no  great  grief  to  him,  and  he  put  it  cheerfully  out  of 
mind  to  devote  himself  to  translation  and  to  Icelandic 
literature. 

The  surprising  task  to  which  he  first  turned  was 
a  verse  translation  of  Virgil's  y^neid,  in  which  he 
attempted  to  give  the  closest  possible  rendering  of 
the  Latin  and  to  emphasise  the  romantic  side  of 
Virgirs  genius.  He  followed  with  an  almost  word- 
for-word  accuracy  the  lines  and  periods  of  the  origi- 
nal using,  and  he  threw  over  the  poem  a  glamour 
of  romance,  but  Mr.  Mackail  says  truly  that  he  had 
taken  his  life  in  his  hands  in  essaying  a  classic  sub- 
ject with  his  inadequate  training  and  unclassic  taste. 
The  same  authority,  who  on  this  subject,  certainly, 
is  not  to  be  disputed  by  the  lay  reader,  considers  the 
result  a  success  from  Morris's  own  point  of  view,  de- 
claring that  he  ''  vindicated  the  claim  of  the  romantic 
school  to  a  joint  ownership  with  the  classicists  in  the 
poem  which  is  not  only  the  crowning  achievement 
of  classical  Latin,  but  the  fountain-head  of  romanti- 
cism in  European  literature."  The  opposing  critics 
are  fairly  represented  by  Mr.  Andrew  Lang,  who,  in 
this  case  as  in  many  another,  is  an  ideal  intermediary 
between  scholar  and  general  reader. 

"There  is  no  more  literal  verse-translation  of  any 
classic  poem  in  English,"  he  says,  "  but  Mr.  Morris's 
manner  and  method  appear  to  me  to  be  mistaken. 
Virgil's  great  charm  is  his  perfection  of  style  and  the 
exquisite  harmony  of  his  numbers.  These  are  not 
represented  by  the  singularly  rude  measures  and 


poetry.  123 

archaistic  language  of  Mr.  Morris.  Like  Mr.  Morris, 
Virgil  was  a  learned  antiquarian,  and  perhaps  very 
accomplished  scholars  may  detect  traces  of  voluntary 
archaism  in  his  language  and  style.  But  these,  if 
they  exist,  certainly  do  not  thrust  themselves  on  the 
notice  of  most  readers  of  the  /Eneid.  Mr.  Morris's 
phrases  would  almost  seem  uncouth  in  a  rendering 
of  Ennius.     For  example,  take 

'  manet  alta  mente  repostum 
Judicium  Paridis,  spretaeque  injuria  formae.' 

This  is  rendered  in  a  prose  version  by  a  tine  and 
versatile  scholar,  '  deep  in  her  soul  lies  stored  the 
judgment  of  Paris,  the  insult  of  her  slighted  beauty.' 
Mr.  Morris  translates: 

'  her  inmost  heart  still  sorely  did  enfold 
That  grief  of  body  set  at  naught  by  Paris'  doomful  deed.' 

Can  anything  be  much  less  Virgilian  ?  Is  it  even 
intelligible  without  the  Latin  ?  What  modern  poet 
would  naturally  speak  of  'grief  of  body  set  at 
naught,'  or  call  the  judgment  of  Paris  '  Paris'  doom- 
ful deed '  ?  Then  '  manet  alta  mente  repostum  '  is 
strangely  rendered  by  '  her  inmost  heart  still  sorely 
did  enfold.'  This  is  an  example  of  the  translation  at 
its  worst,  but  defects  of  the  sort  illustrated  are  so 
common  as  to  leave  an  impression  of  wilful  rugged- 
ness,  and  even  obscurity,  than  which  what  can  be 
less  like  Virgil  ?  Where  Virgil  describes  the  death 
of  Troilus,  '  et  versa  pulvis  inscribitus  hasta  '  ('  and 
his  reversed  spear  scores  the  dust '),  Mr.  Morris  has 


124  Milliam  flDorris. 

'  his  wrested  spear  a-writing  in  tlie  dust,'  and  Troilus 
has  just  been  'a-fleeing  weaponless.'  Our  doomful 
deed,  is  that  to  be  a-translating  thus  is  to  write  with 
wrested  pen,  and  to  give  a  rendering  of  Virgil  as  un- 
satisfactory as  it  is  technically  literal.  In  short,  Mr. 
Morris's  /Encid  seems  on  a  par  with  Mr.  Browning's 
Agamemnon.  But  this,"  Mr.  Lang  is  careful  to  add, 
"  is  a  purely  personal  verdict :  better  scholars  and 
better  critics  have  expressed  a  far  higher  opinion  of 
Mr.  Morris's  translation  of  Virgil." 

Mr.  Lang's  whimsical  despair  over  the  affectations 
of  language  which  abound  in  the  translation  of  the 
y^neid  with  less  pertinence  than  in  many  other  writ- 
ings of  Morris  where  also  they  abound,  recalls  the 
remonstrance  that  Stevenson  could  not  resist  writing 
out  in  the  form  of  a  letter  although  it  was  never  sent 
on  its  mission.  Acknowledging  his  debt  to  Morris 
for  many  "  unforgettable  poems,"  the  younger  writer 
and  more  accomplished  student  of  language  protests 
against  the  indiscriminate  use  of  the  word  whereas 
in  the  translations  from  the  sagas.  ''  For  surely, 
Master,"  he  says,  "that  tongue  that  we  write,  and 
that  you  have  illustrated  so  nobly,  is  yet  alive.  She 
has  her  rights  and  laws,  and  is  our  mother,  our 
queen,  and  our  instrument.  Now  in  that  living 
tongue,  where  has  one  sense,  whereas  another." 

The  translation  of  the  /Eneid  was  published  un- 
der the  title  of  The  /Eneids,  in  the  autumn  of  1875. 
Morris  had  written  a  good  part  of  it  in  the  course  of 
his  trips  back  and  forth  on  the  Underground  Rail- 


poetry.  125 

way,  using  for  these  first  drafts  a  stiff-covered  copy- 
book, which  was  his  constant  companion,  hi  tlie 
summer  of  the  same  year  he  had  brought  out  a  vol- 
ume of  the  translations  from  the  Icelandic  which  he 
was  making  in  collaboration  with  Mr.  Magnusson, 
calling  it  Three  Northern  Love-Stories  and  Other  Tales. 
He  had  still,  he  declared  ''  but  few  converts  to  Saga- 
ism,"  and  he  regarded  his  translating  from  the  Ice- 
landic as  a  pure  luxury,  adopting  it  for  a  Sunday 
amusement.  During  the  winter  of  1875-76,  however, 
he  was  embarked  on  a  cognate  enterprise  of  the  ut- 
most importance  to  him,  although  he  thought,  and 
with  truth,  that  his  public  would  be  indifferent  to  it. 
This  was  the  epic  poem  which  he  called  The  Story  of 
Sigurd  the  Folsirng,  based  on  the  Volsunga  Saga,  the 
story  of  the  great  Northern  heroes  told  and  re-told 
from  generation  to  generation,  polished  and  perfected 
until  the  final  form,  in  which  it  preserves  the  tradi- 
tions of  the  people  who  cherish  it,  is  the  noblest  at- 
tained in  the  Icelandic  legends.  Morris  had  published 
a  prose  translation  of  the  saga  in  1870,  and  the  fol- 
lowing passage  from  his  preface  shows  how  deeply 
his  emotions  were  stirred  by  his  subject: 

"  As  to  the  literary  quality  of  this  work  we  might 
say  much,"  he  writes,  "but  we  think  we  may  well 
trust  the  reader  of  poetic  insight  to  break  through 
whatever  entanglement  of  strange  manners  or  unused 
element  may  at  first  trouble  him,  and  to  meet  the 
nature  and  beauty  with  which  it  is  filled:  we  cannot 
doubt  that  such  a  reader  will  be  intensely  touched  by 


126  Milliam  flDorrie. 

finding  amidst  all  its  wildness  and  remoteness  such 
startling  realism,  such  subtlety,  such  close  sympathy 
with  all  the  passions  that  may  move  himself  to-day. 
In  conclusion,  we  must  again  say  how  strange  it 
seems  to  us,  that  this  Volsung  Tale,  which  is  in  fact 
an  unversified  poem,  should  never  before  have  been 
translated  into  English.  For  this  is  the  Great  Story 
of  the  North,  which  should  be  to  all  our  race  what 
the  tale  of  Troy  was  to  the  Greeks — to  all  our  race 
first,  and  afterwards,  when  the  change  of  the  world 
has  made  our  race  nothing  more  than  a  name  of  what 
has  been — a  story  too — then  should  it  be  to  those 
that  come  after  us  no  less  than  the  Tale  of  Troy  has 
been  to  us." 

In  the  course  of  the  following  six  years,  during 
which  he  was  constantly  increasing  his  intimacy  with 
the  literature  of  the  North,  an  impulse  not  unlike 
that  which  tempted  Tennyson  toward  the  Idylls  of 
the  King  led  him  to  try  the  winning  of  a  wider  audi- 
ence for  the  tale  of  great  deeds  and  elemental  passions 
by  which  he  himself  had  been  so  much  inspired.  In 
the  prose  translation  he  had  given  the  Volsunga  Saga 
to  the  public  as  it  had  been  created  for  an  earlier 
public  of  more  savage  tastes  and  fiercer  tendencies. 
Now  he  proposed  to  divest  it  of  some  of  the  childish 
and  ugly  details  that  formed  a  stumbling  block  to 
the  modern  reader  (though  plausible  and  interesting 
enough  to  those  for  whom  they  were  invented),  and 
to  add  to  the  ''  unversified  poem  "  rhyme  and  metre, 
emphasising  the  essential  points  and  such  character- 


poctr\),  127 

istics  of  the  actors  as  most  appealed  to  him.  A  com- 
parison of  the  saga  with  the  poem  will  show  that  in 
his  effort  to  preserve  the  heroic  character  of  the 
antique  conception  by  accentuating  everything  pleas- 
ing, leaving  out  much  of  the  rudeness  and  cruelty, 
and  adorning  it  with  copious  descriptive  passages, 
he  robs  the  story  of  a  great  part  of  the  wild  life 
stirring  in  its  ancient  forms,  and  more  or  less  con- 
fuses and  involves  it.  The  modern  poem  really 
requires  for  its  right  understanding  a  mind  more 
instructed  in  its  subject  than  the  prose  translation 
of  the  old  saga,  and  readers  to  whom  the  latter 
is  unfamiliar  may  find  a  plain  outline  of  the  story 
not  superfluous. 

In  the  translation,  the  origin  of  the  noble  Volsung 
race,  of  which  Sigurd  is  the  flower  and  crown,  is 
traced  to  Sigi,  called  the  son  of  Odin,  and  sent  out 
from  his  father's  land  for  killing  a  thrall.  He  is 
fortunate  in  war,  marries  a  noble  wife,  and  rules  over 
the  land  of  the  Huns.  His  son  is  named  Rerir. 
Volsung  is  the  son  of  Rerir,  and  thus  the  great- 
grandson  of  Odin  himself.  He  marries  the  daughter 
of  a  giant,  and  the  ten  sons  and  one  daughter  of  this 
union  are  strong  in  sinew  and  huge  in  size,  the 
Volsung  race  having  the  fame  of  being  "great  men 
and  high-minded  and  far  above  the  most  of  men  both 
in  cunning  and  in  prowess  and  all  things  high  and 
mighty."  Volsung  becomes  in  his  turn  king  over 
Hunland,  and  builds  for  himself  a  noble  Hall  in  the 
centre  of  which  grows  an   oak-tree  whose   limbs 


128  Milliam  riDorrie* 

"  blossom  fair  out  over  the  roof  of  the  hall,"  and  the 
trunk  of  which  is  called  Branstock. 

The  poem  opens  with  the  description  of  a  wedding- 
feast  held  in  this  Hall  for  Signy,  King  Volsung's 
daughter,  who  has  been  sought  in  marriage  by  Sig- 
geir,  King  of  the  Goths,  a  smaller  and  meaner  race 
than  the  Volsungs.  Signy  is  not  content  with  her 
fate,  but  her  father  has  deemed  the  match  to  be  a 
wise  one,  and,  eminent  in  filial  obedience  as  in  all 
things  else,  she  yields.  From  this  point  for  some 
distance  saga  and  poem  march  together  save  for 
certain  minor  changes  intended  to  increase  Signy's 
charm.  During  the  feasting  a  one-eyed  stranger 
enters  the  Hall  and  thrusts  his  sword  up  to  its  hilt 
into  the  tree-trunk,  saying  that  who  should  draw  the 
sword  from  the  trunk  should  have  it  for  his  own  and 
find  it  the  best  he  had  ever  borne  in  his  hand.  This, 
of  course,  is  Odin.  Siggeir  tries  to  draw  the  sword, 
and  after  him  his  nobles,  and  then  the  sons  of  King 
Volsung,  but  none  succeeds  until  Sigmund,  the  twin 
of  Signy,  draws  it  lightly  forth  as  an  easy  task. 
Siggeir  is  wroth  and  offers  to  buy  the  sword  for 
thrice  its  weight  in  gold,  but  Sigmund  will  not  part 
with  it,  and  Siggeir  sets  sail  for  home  in  dudgeon, 
though  concealing  his  feelings  from  the  Volsungs  and 
inviting  them  cordially  to  visit  him  in  Gothland. 
Signy  reads  the  future,  and  implores  her  father  to  undo 
the  marriage  and  let  Siggeir  depart  without  her.  (in 
the  poem  Morris  has  her  offer  herself  as  a  sacrifice  if 
her  father  will  but  remain  in  his  kingdom  and  decline 


poetry.  129 

Siggeir's  invitation.)  King  Volsung,  however,  insists 
on  keeping  his  troth,  and  Signy  and  Siggeir  depart, 
followed  in  due  time  by  King  Volsung  and  his  sons 
and  nobles  in  response  to  Siggeir's  request.  What 
Signy  prophesied  comes  to  pass  and  King  Volsung 
falls  at  the  hands  of  the  Goths  while  his  ten  sons  are 
taken  captive.  Now  Signy  prays  her  husband  that 
her  brothers  be  put  for  a  time  in  the  stocks,  since 
home  to  her  mind  comes  "the  saw  that  says  Sweet 
to  eye  while  seen.''  Siggeir  is  delighted  to  consent 
though  he  deems  her  "mad  and  witless"  to  wish 
longer  suffering  for  her  brothers.  Here  the  poem 
departs  from  the  original  in  that  Morris  puts  the  idea 
of  the  stocks  into  the  mind  of  Siggeir  m  answer  to 
Signy's  suggestion  that  her  brothers  be  spared  for 
a  little  time.  Sigmund  and  the  rest  of  the  brothers 
are  taken  to  the  wildwood,  and  a  beam  is  placed  on 
their  feet,  and  night  by  night  for  nine  nights  a  she- 
wolf  comes  to  devour  one  of  them.  (In  the  poem 
Morris  hastens  matters  somewhat  by  having  two 
wolves  appear  each  night  to  despatch  the  brothers 
two  at  a  time.)  Each  morning  Signy  sends  a  mes- 
senger to  the  wildwood  who  brings  back  the  woeful 
news.  Finally  she  thinks  of  a  ruse,  and  on  the  tenth 
night  the  messenger  is  sent  to  smear  the  f^ice  of 
Sigmund,  now  the  sole  remaining  brother,  with 
honey,  putting  some  also  into  his  mouth.  When 
the  wolf  comes  she  licks  his  face,  and  then  puts  her 
tongue  into  his  mouth  to  get  the  last  delicious  drop. 
Sigmund  promptly  closes  his  teeth  upon  her  tongue 


I30  Milliam  flDorrie, 

and  in  the  struggle  that  ensues  Sigmund's  bonds 
are  burst  and  the  wolf  escapes,  leaving  her  tongue 
between  his  teeth.  This  incident  was  probably  not 
sufficiently  heroic  to  please  Morris,  and  in  the  poem 
no  mention  is  made  of  Signy's  clever  device,  Sigmund 
gaining  his  freedom  in  a  more  dignified  fashion  and 
the  details  being  slurred  over  lightly,  with  a  vague 
and  general  allusion  to  snapping  ''  with  greedy  teeth. " 
Sigmund  dwells  in  the  wildwood  in  hiding,  and 
Signy  sends  to  him  in  turn  her  two  sons  by  King 
Siggeir,  that  he  may  test  their  fitness  to  help  avenge 
the  fate  of  her  family.  Here  again  Morris  mitigates 
the  stern  temper  of  Signy  for  a  more  womanly  type, 
in  the  saga  when  Signy  finds  that  the  boys  are  not 
stout  enough  of  heart  to  accomplish  her  purpose  she 
bids  Sigmund  kill  them  at  once:  ''  Why  should  such 
as  they  live  longer?  "  In  the  poem,  however,  when 
Signy  sends  her  son  to  Sigmund  he  is  delivered  with 
the  diplomatic  message  that  if  his  heart  avail  not  he 
may  "wend  the  ways  of  his  fate,"  and  when  it  is 
found  that  his  heart  does  not  avail,  he  is  returned 
in  safety  to  his  mother,  Sigmund  awaiting  the  slow 
coming  of  the  competent  one. 

The  story  of  the  birth  of  Sinfjotli,  in  whose 
veins  runs  unmixed  the  blood  of  the  Volsungs,  is 
given  a  certain  dignity  not  accorded  it  in  Wagner's 
familiar  version  of  the  legend  as  Mr.  Buxton  Forman, 
Morris's  most  devoted  critic,  has  pointed  out,  but 
true  to  the  account  in  the  original  saga.  The  saga 
is  followed,  also,  in  the  burning  of  Siggeir's  Hall  by 


IV ill i am  Morris 

From  painting  by  Watts 


poetry.  131 

Sigmund  and  Sinfjotli,  but  the  Signy  who  kisses  her 
brother  in  "  soft  and  sweet"  farewell  certainly  fails 
to  recall  to  the  mind  the  vengeful  creature  of  the 
original.  Sigmund  returns  to  the  Hall  of  the  Vol- 
sungs  with  Sinfjotli,  and  marries  Borghild.  Presently 
Sintjotli  sails  abroad  with  the  brother  of  Queen  Bor- 
ghild, Gudrod  by  name,  and  kills  him  for  reason  —  as 
given  in  the  translation  —  of  their  rivalry  in  loving 
"  an  exceeding  fair  woman."  In  the  poem,  however, 
Morris  records  a  shabby  trick  played  upon  Sinfjotli 
by  Gudrod  in  the  dividing  of  their  spoils  of  battle, 
making  this  the  cause  of  the  duel  in  which  Gudrod 
was  killed.  Sinfjotli  returns  to  his  home  with  the 
news  of  Gudrod's  death,  and  Borghild  in  revenge 
poisons  him.  Sigmund  then  sends  her  away  and 
takes  for  his  wife  fair  Hiordis,  meeting  his  death  at 
the  hand  of  Odin  himself,  who  appears  to  him  in  bat- 
tle and  shatters  the  sword  he  had  drawn  in  his  youth 
from  the  Volsung  Branstock.  As  he  lies  dying  he 
tells  Hiordis  that  she  must  take  good  care  of  their 
child,  who  is  to  carry  on  the  Volsung  tradition,  and 
must  guard  well  the  shards  of  Odin's  sword  for  him. 
Then  comes  the  carrying  away  of  Hiordis  by  a  sea- 
king  to  his  kingdom  in  Denmark,  and  here  ends, 
rightly  speaking,  the  epic  of  Sigmund's  career, 
which,  as  Mr.  Mackail  has  said,  is  a  separate  story 
neither  subordinate  to  nor  coherent  with  the  later 
epic  of  Sigurd,  but  which  Morris  could  not  forbear 
uniting  to  it.  Sigurd  the  Volsung,  the  golden-haired, 
the  shining  one,  the  symbol  of  the  sun,  is  born  of 


i:,2  Milliam  riDoins. 


Hiordis  in  the  home  of  King  Elf,  and  fostered  by 
Regin,  an  aged  man  and  ''deft  in  every  cunning  save 
the  dealings  of  the  sword."  When  Sigurd  has  grown 
to  be  a  boy  of  high  mind  and  stout  heart,  Regin 
urges  him  to  ask  of  King  Elf  a  horse.  This  he  does, 
and  is  sent  to  choose  one  for  himself.  He  chooses 
the  best  horse  in  the  world  and  names  him,  Greyfell 
in  the  poem,  Grani  in  the  prose.  Regin  now  presses 
him  to  attack  Fafnir  the  'Ming-worm,"  or  dragon, 
who  guards  a  vast  hoard  of  treasure  in  the  desert. 
According  to  the  saga,  Sigurd  is  not  ashamed  to  own 
to  a  slight  hesitation  in  attacking  a  creature  of  whose 
size  and  malignity  he  has  heard  much,  but  in  the 
poem  he  is  ready  for  the  deed,  merely  hinting  that 
"the  wary  foot  is  the  surest  and  the  hasty  oft  turns 
back."  Thereupon  follows  the  tale  of  the  treasure 
told  by  Regin  with  great  directness  in  the  prose,  and 
with  much  circumlocution  in  the  poem. 

When  Sigurd  learns  that  Fafnir  is  the  brother  of 
Regin,  and  is  keeping  him  out  of  his  share  of  treas- 
ure belonging  to  them  both,  on  which,  however,  a 
curse  is  laid,  he  pities  Regin,  and  promises  that  if  he 
will  make  him  a  sword  worthy  of  the  deed  he  will 
kill  Fafnir  for  him.  This  Regin  attempts  to  do  and 
fails  until  Sigurd  brings  him  the  shards  of  Odin's 
mighty  sword,  his  inheritance  from  his  f:ither  Sig- 
mund.  With  a  sword  forged  from  the  shards  and 
named  by  him  "the  Wrath,"  Sigurd  sets  out  on 
Greyfell,  accompanied  by  Regin,  to  attack  the 
dragon.      The  description  in  the  poem  of  the  ride 


lPoctrv\  133 

across  the  desert  is  rich  in  the  fruits  of  Morris's  own 
experience,  and  reflects  very  closely  his  impressions 
of  the  mournful  place  of  "short-lived  eagerness  and 
glory."     Sigurd  and  Regin  ride  to  the  westward. 

.     .     and  huge  were  the  mountains  grown 
And  the  floor  of  heaven  was  mingled  with  that  tossing  world  of 

stone; 
And  they  rode  till  the  moon  was  forgotten  and  the  sun  was  waxen 

low, 
And  they  tarried  not  though  he  perished,  and  the  world  grew 

dark  below. 
Then  they  rode  a  mighty  desert,  a  glimmering  place  and  wide. 
And  into  a  narrow  pass  high-walled  on  either  side 
By  the  blackness  of  the  mountains,  and  barred  aback  and  in  face 
By  the  empty  night  of  the  shadow;  a  windless  silent  place: 
But  the  white  moon  shone  o'erhead  mid  the  small  sharp  stars 

and  pale. 
And  each  as  a  man  alone  they  rode  on  the  highway  of  bale. 

So  ever  they  wended  upward,  and  the  midnight  hour  was  o'er, 

And  the  stars  grew  pale  and  paler,  and  failed  from  the  heaven's 
floor, 

And  the  moon  was  a  long  while  dead,  but  where  was  the  prom- 
ise of  day  ? 

No  change  came  over  the  darkness,  no  streak  of  the  dawning 

grey; 
No  sound  of  the  wind's  uprising  adown  the  night  there  ran: 
It  was  blind  as  the  Gaping  Gulf  ere  the  first  of  the  worlds  began. 

The  fight  with  the  dragon,  the  roasting  of  the 
dragon's  heart,  the  tasting  of  the  blood  by  Sigurd, 
and  his  instant  knowledge  of  the  hearts  of  men  and 
beasts  and  of  the  speech  of  birds,  follow  with  close 
adherence  of  poem  to  saga,  the  most  marked  diver- 
gence being  the  substitution  of  eagles  for  the  wood- 
peckers who  sing  to  Sigurd  of  his  future.    Through 


134  'WriilUam  nDorri0. 

his  new  accomplishment  Sigurd  is  able  to  read 
Regin's  heart,  and  sees  therein  a  traitorous  intent, 
therefore  he  kills  Regin,  loads  Greyfell  with  the  treas- 
ure, and  rides  to  the  mountain  where  Brynhild,  the 
warrior  maiden  struck  with  slumber  by  Odin  in  pun- 
ishment for  disobedience  to  him,  is  lying  in  her 
armour  guarded  by  flames.  Sigurd  wins  through 
the  fire,  and  awakens  her,  and  they  hold  loving  con- 
verse together  on  the  mountain,  Brynhild  teaching 
him  wisdom  in  runes  and  in  the  saga,  bringing  him 
beer  in  a  beaker,  ''the  drink  of  love,"  although  in 
the  poem  this  hospitable  ceremony  is  omitted.  After 
a  time  they  part,  plighting  troth,  and  later,  when 
they  meet  at  the  home  of  Brynhild  in  Lymdale,  they 
again  exchange  vows  of  faith. 

Then  Sigurd  rides  to  a  realm  south  of  the  Rhine, 
where  dwell  the  Niblung  brothers  with  their  sister 
Gudrun  and  their  tierce-hearted  mother,  Grimhild, 
who  brews  for  Sigurd  a  philter  that  makes  him  forget 
the  vows  he  exchanged  with  Brynhild  and  become 
enamoured  of  Gudrun.  Completely  under  the  power 
of  the  charm,  he  weds  the  latter  and  undertakes  to 
woo  and  win  Brynhild  for  her  brother  Gunnar.  This 
he  does  by  assuming  Gunnar's  semblance,  and  riding 
once  more  through  the  fire  that  guards  Brynhild,  re- 
minding her  of  her  oath  to  marry  whomever  should 
perform  this  feat,  and  returning  to  his  own  form  after 
gaining  her  promise  for  Gunnar.  This  ruse  is  made 
known  to  Brynhild  (after  she  has  wedded  Gunnar) 
by  Gudrun,  who  is  not  averse  to  marring  the  peace 


poetry,  135 

of  the  greatest  of  women,  and  Brynhild  makes  the 
air  ring  with  her  wailing  over  the  woeful  fact  that 
Gudrun  has  the  braver  man  for  her  husband,  in  the 
saga  she  is  a  very  outspoken  lady  and  in  a'wild  tem- 
per, and  even  in  the  poem  her  grief  fails  in  noble  and 
dignified  expression.  At  her  instigation  Sigurd  is 
killed  by  Gunnar  and  his  brethren.  The  vengeance 
brings  no  happiness,  however,  and  Brynhild  pierces 
her  breast  with  a  sword  that  she  and  Sigurd  may  lie 
on  one  funeral  pyre!  Lovers  of  Wagner  opera  will 
remember  that  the  story  as  there  told  ends  with  this 
climax,  but  Morris  carries  it  on  to  Gudrun's  marriage 
with  King  Atli,  Brynhild's  brother,  and  to  the  strug- 
gle between  him  and  the  Niblungs  for  the  fatal  treas- 
ure, which  results  in  the  murder  of  the  Niblungs 
(Gudrun's  brothers)  and  the  irrevocable  loss  of  the 
treasure.  Although  Gudrun  has  approved  Atlis 
deed,  she  finds  she  can  no  longer  abide  with  him 
after  it  has  been  accomplished,  and  accordingly  sets 
fire  to  his  house  and  throws  herself  into  the  sea. 
Morris  omits  the  grewsome  incident  of  the  supper 
prepared  for  Atli  by  Gudrun  from  the  roasted  hearts 
of  their  children  whom  she  had  killed,  and  also 
leaves  out  the  subsequent  account  of  the  bringing 
ashore  of  Gudrun  and  the  wedding  and  slaying  of 
Swanhild,  her  daughter  by  Sigurd. 

To  the  poetic  and  symbolic  elements  of  this 
strange  old  saga,  Morris  has  been  abundantly  sen- 
sitive. The  curse  attending  the  desire  for  gold, 
which  is  the  pointed  moral  of  the  saga,  is  brought 


136  TRaUliam  riDorils, 

out,  not  dramatically,  but  by  allusions  and  sugges- 
tions, not  always  apparent  at  a  casual  reading.  The 
conception  of  Sigurd  as  the  sun-god  destroying  the 
powers  of  darkness  and  illuminating  a  shadowy 
world  is  constantly  hinted  at,  as  when  he  threatens 
Regin  with  the  light  he  sheds  on  good  and  ill,  and 
when  Regin,  looking  toward  him  as  he  sits  on 
Greyfell,  sees  that  the  light  of  his  presence  blazes 
as  the  glory  of  the  sun.  The  heroism  of  Sigurd, 
his  role  as  the  ideal  lover  and  warrior  and  spiritual 
saviour  of  his  race,  is  perhaps  over-emphasised.  As 
King  Arthur  certainly  lost  in  interest  by  Tennyson's 
re-creation  of  him,  so  Sigurd  is  more  lovely  and 
fair  and  golden  and  glorious  in  the  poem  than  in 
the  saga,  and  considerably  less  human  and  attrac- 
tive withal.  In  fact,  none  of  the  characters  in  the 
poem  —  all  so  intensely  alive  to  Morris  himself — 
lives  in  quite  a  like  degree  for  his  readers.  His 
power  to  probe  beneath  externals  and  rouse  emotions 
of  spiritual  force  was  curiously  limited.  There  are 
indications  in  his  biography  that  his  business  with 
crafts  and  ''word-spinning,"  as  he  called  it,  served 
him  as  a  kind  of  armour,  protecting  him  from  the 
wounds  of  feelings  too  poignant  to  handle  freely,  too 
deadly  to  invite.  We  read  of  his  agony  of  apprehen- 
sion, for  example,  when  in  Iceland  he  did  not  hear 
from  his  home  for  a  considerable  period.  ''Why 
does  not  one  drop  down  or  faint  or  do  something  of 
that  sort  when  it  comes  to  the  uttermost  in  such 
matters!  "  he  exclaims.    But  in  his  writing  it  is  mainly 


poetry,  137 

the  surface  of  the  earth  and  the  surface  of  the  mind 
with  which  he  deals.  It  is  in  the  nature  of  liis 
genius,  says  one  of  his  most  accomplished  critics,  to 
dispense  with  those  deeper  thoughts  of  life  which 
for  Chaucer  and  for  Shakespeare  were  ''the  very 
air  breathed  by  the  persons  living  in  their  verse." 
Nevertheless,  his  service  to  English  literature,  in 
translating  the  Northern  sagas  as  none  but  a  poet 
could  have  translated  them,  was  very  great,  and  his 
Story  of  Sigurd  is  in  many  respects  a  splendid  per- 
formance. In  writing  it  he  endeavoured  to  infuse 
into  his  style  the  energy  and  passion  of  the  literature 
from  which  he  drew  his  material,  and  to  brace  it  with 
the  sturdy  fibre  of  the  Icelandic  tongue.  His  efforts 
to  de-Latinise  his  sentences  had  already  lent  his 
translations  a  vigour  lacking  in  his  earlier  work.  He 
had  captured  something  of  the  Northern  freshness 
corresponding  very  truly  to  his  external  aspect  if 
not  to  the  workings  of  his  brain.  The  chief  defect 
from  which  his  story  of  Sigurd  suffers  lies  in  the  ex- 
treme garrulity  of  the  narrative.  A  single  passage, 
set  by  the  side  of  the  translation,  will  suffice  to  show 
the  manner  in  which  a  direct  statement  is  smothered 
and  amplified  until  the  reader's  brain  is  dull  with 
repetition,  and  the  episode  or  description  is  extended 
to  three  or  four  times  its  original  length.  Thus  in 
the  saga  we  are  told  that  after  Sigurd  had  eaten  of 
the  dragon's  heart  "  he  leapt  on  his  horse  and  rode 
along  the  trail  of  the  worm  Fafnir,  and  so  right  unto 
his  abiding-place;  and  he  found  it  open,  and  beheld 


138  Milliam  riDorne, 

all  the  doors  and  the  gear  of  them  that  they  were 
wrought  of  iron;  yea,  and  all  the  beams  of  the 
house;  and  it  was  dug  down  deep  into  the  earth: 
there  found  Sigurd  gold  exceeding  plenteous,  and 
the  sword  Rotti;  and  thence  he  took  the  Helm  of 
Awe,  and  the  Gold  Byrny,  and  many  things  fair  and 
good.  So  much  gold  he  found  there,  that  he  thought 
verily  that  scarce  might  two  horses,  or  three  belike, 
bear  it  thence.  So  he  took  all  the  gold  and  laid  it  in 
two  great  chests,  and  set  them  on  the  horse  Grani, 
and  took  the  reins  of  him,  but  nowise  will  he  stir, 
neither  will  he  abide  smiting.  Then  Sigurd  knows 
the  mind  of  the  horse,  and  leaps  on  the  back  of  him, 
and  smites  spurs  into  him,  and  off  the  horse  goes 
even  as  if  he  were  unladen." 

From  this  comparatively  unvarnished  tale  Morris 
evolves  the  following : 

Now  Sigurd  eats  of  the  heart  that  once  in  the  Dwarf-king  lay, 
The  hoard  of  the  wisdom  begrudged,  the  might  of  the  earlier 

day. 
Then  wise  of  heart  was  he  waxen,  but  longing  in  him  grew 
To  sow  the  seed  he  had  gotten,  and  till  the  field  he  knew. 
So  he  leapeth  aback  of  Greyfell,  and  rideth  the  desert  bare, 
And  the  hollow  slot  of  Fafnir  that  led  to  the  Serpent's  lair. 
Then  long  he  rode  adown  it,  and  the  ernes  flew  overhead, 
And  tidings  great  and  glorious  of  that  Treasure  of  old  they  said, 
So   far  o'er  the   waste   he  wended,  and  when  the  night  was 

come 
He    saw    the   earth-old    dwelling,    the   dread    Gold-wallowers 

home. 
On  the  skirts  of  the  Heath  it  was  builded  by  a  tumbled  stony 

bent; 
High  went  that  house  to  the  heavens,  down  'neath  the  earth  it 

went, 


IPoctr^.  139 

Of  unwrought  iron  fashioned  for  the  heart  of  a  greedy  king: 
'T  was  a  mountain,  blind  without,  and  within  was  its  plenishing 
But  the  Hoard  of  Andvari  the  ancient,  and  the  sleeping  Curse 

unseen. 
The  Gold  of  the  Gods  that  spared  not  and  the  greedy  that  have 

been. 
Through   the   door  strode   Sigurd   the  Volsung,   and  the  grey 

moon  and  the  sword 
Fell  in  on  the  tawny  gold-heaps  of  the  ancient  hapless  Hoard: 
Gold  gear  of  hosts  unburied,  and  the  coin  of  cities  dead. 
Great  spoil  of  the  ages  of  battle,  lay  there  on  the  Serpent's  bed: 
Huge    blocks    from    mid-earth   quarried,    where   none   but  the 

Dwarfs  have  mined. 
Wide  sands  of  the  golden  rivers  no  foot  of  man  may  find, 
Lay  'neath  the  spoils  of  the  mighty  and  the  ruddy  rings  of  yore: 
But  amidst  was  the   Helm  of  Aweing  that  the  Fear  of  earth- 
folk  bore. 
And  there  gleamed  a  wonder  beside  it,  the  Hauberk  all  of  gold, 
Whose  like  is  not  in  the  heavens  nor  has  earth  of  its  fellow 

told: 
There  Sigurd  seeth  moreover  Andvari's  Ring  of  Gain, 
The  hope  of  Loki's  finger,  the  Ransom's  utmost  grain; 
For  it  shone  on  the  midmost  gold-heap  like  the  first  star  set  in 

the  sky, 
In   the    yellow    space   of  even    when   the    moon-rise   draweth 

anigh. 
Then  laughed  the  Son  of  Sigmund,  and  stooped  to  the  golden 

land. 
And  gathered  that  first  of  the  harvest  and  set  it  on  his  hand; 
And  he  did  on  the  Helm  of  Aweing,  and  the  Hauberk  all  of 

gold,— 
Whose  like  is  not  in  the  heavens  nor  has  earth  of  its  fellow 

told: 
Then  he  praised  the  day  of  the  Volsungs  amid  the  yellow  light, 
And  he  set  his  hand  to  the  labour  and  put  forth  his   kingly 

might; 
He  dragged  forth  gold  to  the  moon,   on  the  desert's  face  he 

laid 
The  innermost  earth's  adornment,  and   rings  for  the  nameless 

made: 


I40  MlUiam  riDorrie. 

He  toiled  and  loaded  Greyfell,  and  the  cloudy  war-steed  shone, 
And  the  gear  of  Sigurd  rattled  in  the  flood  of  moonlight  wan; 
There  he  toiled  and  loaded  Greyfell,  and  the  Volsung's  armour 

rang 
'Mid   the  yellow  bed  of  the  Serpent — but  without  the  eagles 

sang: 

"  Bind  the  red  rings,  O  Sigurd!  let  the  gold  shine  free  and  clear! 
For  what  hath  the  Son  of  the  Volsungs  the  ancient  Curse  to 
fear  ? 

"  Bind  the  red  rings,  O  Sigurd!  for  thy  tale  is  well  begun, 
And  the  world  shall  be  good  and  gladdened  by  the  Gold  lit  up 
by  the  sun. 

"Bind  the  red  rings,  O  Sigurd!  and  gladden  all  thine  heart! 
For  the  world  shall  make  thee  merry  ere  thou  and  she  depart. 

"  Bind  the  red  rings,  O  Sigurd!  for  the  ways  go  green  below. 
Go  green  to  the  dwelling  of  Kings,  and  the  halls  that  the  Queen- 
folk  know. 

"Bind  the  red  rings,  O  Sigurd!  for  what  is  there  bides  by  the 

way. 
Save  the  joy  of  folk  to  awaken,  and  the  dawn  of  the  merry  day  ? 

"  Bind  the  red  rings,  O  Sigurd  !  for  the  strife  awaits  thine  hand 
And  a  plenteous  war-field's  reaping,  and  the  praise  of  many  a 
land. 

"Bind  the  red  rings,  O  Sigurd!  but  how  shall  storehouse  hold 
That  glory  of  thy  winning  and  the  tidings  to  be  told  ?" 

Now  the  moon  was  dead  and  the  star-worlds  were  great  on  the 

heavenly  plain. 
When  the  steed  was  fully  laden;  then  Sigurd  taketh  the  rein 
And  turns  to  the  ruined  rock-wall  that  the  lair  was  built  beneath, 
For  there  he  deemed  was  the  gate  and  the  door  of  the  Glitter- 
ing Heath, 
But  not  a  whit  moved  Greyfell  for  aught  that  the  King  might  do; 


poetry,  141 

Then   Sigurd    pondered   awhile,  till   the  heart  of  the  beast  he 

knew, 
And  clad  in  all  his  war-gear  he  leaped  to  the  saddle-stead, 
And  with  pride  and  mirth  neighed  Greyfell  and  tossed  aloft  his 

head, 
And  sprang  unspurred  oer  the  waste,  and  light  and  swift  he 

went. 
And  breasted  the  broken  rampart,  the  stony  tumbled  bent; 
And  over  the  brow  he  clomb,  and  there  beyond  was  the  world, 
A  place  of  many  mountains  and  great  crags  together  hurled. 
So  down  to  the  west  he  wendeth,  and  goeth  swift  and  light. 
And  the  stars  are  beginning  to  wane,  and  the  day  is  mingled 

with  night; 
For  full  fain  was  the  sun  to  arise  and  look  on  the  Gold  set  free, 
And  the  Dwarf-wrought  rings  of  the  Treasure  and  the  gifts  from 

the  floor  of  the  sea. 

Beautiful  and  full  of  poetic  spirit  and  suggestion 
as  this  phraseology  is,  a  reader  may  be  forgiven  if  it 
recalls  the  reply  of  Hamlet  when  asked  by  Polonius 
what  it  is  he  reads.  Compared  with  the  swift 
dramatic  method  employed  by  Wagner  to  make  the 
heroes  and  heroines  of  this  same  saga  live  for  our 
time,  it  must  be  admitted  that  the  latter  drives  home 
with  the  greater  energy  and  conviction.  Morris 
himself,  however,  was  "not  much  interested"  in 
anything  Wagner  did,  looking  upon  it  "as  nothing 
short  of  desecration  to  bring  such  a  tremendous  and 
world-wide  subject  under  the  gaslights  of  an  opera, 
the  most  rococo  and  degraded  of  all  forms  of  art." 

To  the  group  of  translations  and  adaptations 
already  described  must  be  added  one  other  ambitious 
effort  which  belongs  to  it,  properly  speaking,  although 
separated  from  it  in  time  by  more  than  ten  years. 


142  "MiUiam  fIDorris. 

In  1887  Morris  published  a  translation  of  the  Ocfyssej^, 
written  in  anapaestic  couplets,  and  rendered  as  liter- 
ally as  by  the  prose  crib  of  which  he  made  frank  use. 
Mr.  Watts- Dunton  finds  in  this  translation  the 
Homeric  eagerness,  although  the  Homeric  dignity  is 
lacking.  The  majority  of  competent  critics  were 
against  it,  however,  nor  is  a  high  degree  of  classical 
training  necessary  to  perceive  in  it  an  incoherence 
and  clumsiness  of  diction  impossible  to  associate 
with  the  lucid  images  of  the  Greeks.  Compare,  for 
example,  Morris's  account  of  the  recognition  of 
Ulysses  by  Argus  with  Bryant's  limpid  rendering  of 
the  same  episode,  and  the  tortured  style  of  the 
former  is  obvious  at  once.  Bryant's  translation 
reads : 

There  lay 
Argus,  devoured  with  vermin.     As  he  saw 
Ulysses  drawing  near,  he  wagged  his  tail 
And  dropped  his  ears,  but  found  that  he  could  come 
No  nearer  to  his  master.     Seeing  this 
Ulysses  wiped  away  a  tear  unmark'd 
By  the  good  swineherd  whom  he  questioned  thus  : 

"  Eumaeus,  this  I  marvel  at, —  this  dog 
That  lies  upon  the  dunghill,  beautiful 
In  form,  but  whether  in  the  chase  as  fleet 
As  he  is  fairly  shaped  1  cannot  tell. 
Worthless,  perchance,  as  house-dogs  often  are 
Whose  masters  keep  them  for  the  sake  of  show." 

And  thus,  Eumaeus,  thou  didst  make  reply  : 

"The  dog  belongs  to  one  who  died  afar. 
Had  he  the  power  of  limb  which  once  he  had 
For  feats  of  hunting  when  Ulysses  sailed 
For  Troy  and  left  him,  thou  wouldst  be  amazed 
Both  at  his  swiftness  and  his  strength.     No  beast 


poetry.  143 

In  the  thick  forest  depths  which  once  he  saw, 

Or  even  tracked  by  footprints,  could  escape. 

And  now  he  is  a  sufferer,  since  his  lord 

Has  perished  far  from  his  own  land.     No  more 

The  careless  women  heed  the  creature's  wants; 

For,  when  the  master  is  no  longer  near, 

The  servants  cease  from  their  appointed  tasks, 

And  on  the  day  that  one  becomes  a  slave 

The  Thunderer,  Jove   takes  half  his  worth  away." 

He  spake,  and,  entering  that  fair  dwelling-place, 
Passed  through  to  where  the  illustrious  suitors  sat, 
While  over  Argus  the  black  night  of  death 
Came  suddenly  as  soon  as  he  had  seen 
Ulysses,  absent  now  for  twenty  years. 

And  here  is  the  description  by  Morris  of  the  in- 
finitely touching  scene: 

There  then  did  the  woodhound  Argus  all  full  of  ticks  abide; 
But  now  so  soon  as  he  noted  Odysseus  drawing  anear 
He  wagged  his  tail,  and  fawning  he  laid  down  either  ear. 
But  had  no  might  to  drag  him  nigher  from  where  he  lay 
To  his  master,  who  beheld  him  and  wiped  a  tear  away 
That  he  lightly  hid  from  Eumaeus,  unto  whom  he  spake  and 
said: 

"Eumseus,  much  I  marvel  at  the  dog  on  the  dung-heap  laid; 

Fair-shapen  is  his  body,  but  nought  1  know  indeed 

if  unto  this  his  fairness  he  hath  good  running  speed, 

Or  is  but  like  unto  some  —  men's  table-dogs  I  mean, 

Which  but  because  of  their  fairness  lords  cherish  to  be  seen." 

Then  thou,    O  swineherd    Eumaeus,   didst  speak  and   answer 
thus: 

"Yea,  this  is  the  hound  of  the  man  that  hath  died  aloof  from  us; 
And  if  yet  to  do  and  to  look  on  he  were  even  such  an  one 
As  Odysseus  left  behind  him  when  to  Troy  he  gat  him  gone 
Then  wouldest   thou  wonder   beholding  his  speed  and   hardi- 
hood, 
For  no  monster  that  he  followed   through  the  depths   of  the 
tangled  wood 


144  Milllam  riDorris. 

Would  he  blench  from,  and  well   he  wotted  of  their  trail  and 

where  it  led. 
But  now  ill  he  hath,  since  his  master  in  an  alien  land  is  dead. 
And  no  care  of  him  have  the  women,  that  are  heedless    here 

and  light; 
Since  thralls  whenso  they  are  missing  their  masters'  rule  and 

might. 
No  longer  are  they  willing  to  do  the  thing  that  should  be; 
For  Zeus,  the  loud-voiced,  taketh  half  a  man's  valiancy 
Whenso  the  day  of  thralldom  hath  hold  of  him  at  last." 

So  saying  into  the  homestead  of  the  happy  place  he  passed 
And  straight  to  the  hall  he  wended  'mid  the  Wooers  overbold. 
But  the  murky  doom  of  the  death-day  of  Argus  now  took  hold 
When  he  had  looked  on  Odysseus  in  this  the  twentieth  year. 

The  decade  between  the  publication  of  The 
Earthly  Paradise  and  Sigurd  the  Volsung  had  been 
one  of  sustained  literary  effort  varied,  as  we  have 
seen,  but  hardly  interrupted  by  the  work  in  decora- 
tion. The  latter  Morris  called  his  ''  bread-and-cheese 
work,"  the  former  his  ''pleasure  work  of  books." 
The  time  had  not  yet  come  for  a  complete  union  be- 
tween the  two,  although  it  was  foreshadowed  by 
the  illuminated  manuscripts  made  for  friends  during 
these  years.  A  selection  from  his  own  poems,  a 
translation  of  the  Eyrbyggja  Saga,  a  copy  of  Fitz- 
gerald's Riibaiyat  of  Omar  Khayyam,  and  the  /Eneid 
of  Virgil  were  among  the  works  that  Morris  under- 
took to  transcribe  with  his  own  hand  on  vellum, 
with  decorative  margins  with  results  of  great  beauty. 
He  had  now  long  been  happy  in  work  calling  out  all 
this  enthusiasm,  but  the  world  was  going  on  without, 
to  use  his  own  words,  "beautiful  and  strange  and 


poetry. 


H5 


dreadful  and  worshipful."  He  was  approaching  the 
time  when  his  conscience  would  no  longer  let  him 
rest  in  the  thought  that  he  was  "  not  born  to  set  the 
crooked  straight." 


CHAPTER  VII. 


PUBLIC  LIFE  AND  SOCIALISM. 

IN  the  autumn  of  1876,  just  after  the  publication  of 
Sigurd  the  l^olsnng,  Morris  took  his  first  dip  in 
the  ocean  of  public  affairs,  the  waves  of  which 
were  presently  almost  to  submerge  him.  He  was 
forty-two  years  of  age,  and  had  thus  far  managed  to 
keep  well  within  the  range  of  his  individual  interests 
and  away  from  the  political  and  social  questions  that 
none  the  less  stirred  in  his  mind  from  time  to  time, 
and  pricked  him  to  random  assertions  that  he  would 
have  nothing  to  do  with  them,  that  his  business  was 
with  dreams,  and  that  he  would  remain  "the  idle 
singer  of  an  empty  day."  He  was  roused  to  action, 
however,  by  the  barbarous  massacre  on  the  part  of 
the  Mussulman  soldiery  of  men,  women,  and  children 
in  Bulgaria,  the  news  of  which  moved  the  heart  of 
England  to  a  frenzy  of  indignation.  When  Russia 
intervened,  the  possibility  that  England  might  take 
up  arms  on  the  side  of  Turkey  in  order  to  erect  a 
barrier  against  Russian  aggression  was  intolerable  to 
him,  and  he  wrote  to  the  Daily  News  in   eloquent 

146 


public  Xife  an^  Socialism.  147 

protestation.  "I  who  am  writing  this,"  he  said, 
with  a  just  appreciation  of  his  ordinary  attitude  to- 
ward political  matters,  "  am  one  of  a  large  class  of 
men — quiet  men,  who  usually  go  about  their  own 
business,  heeding  public  matters  less  than  they 
ought,  and  afraid  to  speak  in  such  a  huge  concourse 
as  the  English  nation,  however  much  they  may  feel, 
but  who  are  now  stung  into  bitterness  by  thinking 
how  helpless  they  are  in  a  public  matter  that  touches 
them  so  closely.  "I  appeal,"  he  continued,  "to 
the  workingmen,  and  pray  them  to  look  to  it  that  if 
this  shame  falls  upon  them  they  will  certainly  re- 
member it  and  be  burdened  by  it  when  their  day 
clears  for  them  and  they  attain  all  and  more  than  all 
they  are  now  striving  for."  Again  in  the  spring  of 
1877,  when  war  seemed  imminent,  Morris  appealed 
"  to  the  workingmen  of  England,  "issuing  a  manifesto 
which  was  practically  his  first  Socialist  document 
and  heralded  the  long  series  of  lectures  and  addresses, 
poems,  articles,  and  treatises,  presently  to  take  the 
place  of  romances  and  epics  in  his  literary  life.  After 
declaring  that  the  people  who  were  bringing  on  the 
war  were  ''greedy  gamblers  on  the  Stock  Exchange, 
idle  officers  of  the  army  and  navy  (poor  fellows!), 
worn-out  mockers  of  the  clubs,  desperate  purveyors 
of  exciting  war-news  for  the  comfortable  breakf^ist- 
tables  of  those  who  have  nothing  to  lose  by  war,  and 
lastly,  in  the  place  of  honour,  the  Tory  Rump,  that 
we  fools,  weary  of  peace,  reason,  and  justice,  chose 
at  the  last  election  to  represent  us,"  he  added  a 


148  IimiUiam  flDorne, 

passage  that  reads  like  the  outcome  of  many  a  heated 
discussion  with  brethren  of  his  own  social  class. 

"  Workingmen  of  England,  one  word  of  warning 
yet,"  he  said  :  ''  1  doubt  if  you  know  the  bitterness 
of  hatred  against  freedom  and  progress  that  lies  at 
the  hearts  of  a  certain  part  of  the  richer  classes  in 
this  country  ;  their  newspapers  veil  it  in  a  kind  of 
decent  language,  but  do  but  hear  them  talking 
amongst  themselves,  as  I  have  often,  and  1  know 
not  whether  scorn  or  anger  would  prevail  in  you  at 
their  folly  and  insolence.  These  men  cannot  speak 
of  your  order,  of  its  aims,  of  its  leaders,  without  a 
sneer  or  an  insult ;  these  men,  if  they  had  the  power 
(may  England  perish  rather !)  would  thwart  your 
just  aspirations,  would  silence  you,  would  deliver 
you  bound  hand  and  foot  forever  to  irresponsible 
capital.  Fellow-citizens,  look  to  it,  and  if  you  have 
any  wrongs  to  be  redressed,  if  you  cherish  your 
most  worthy  hope  of  raising  your  whole  order 
peacefully  and  solidly,  if  you  thirst  for  leisure  and 
knowledge,  if  you  long  to  lessen  these  inequalities 
which  have  been  our  stumbling-block  since  the 
beginning  of  the  world,  then  cast  aside  sloth  and  cry 
out  against  an  Unjust  War,  and  urge  us  of  the 
middle  classes  to  do  no  less." 

By  this  time  he  was  treasurer  of  the  Eastern 
Question  Association,  and  working  with  all  his  might 
against  the  principles  of  the  war  party  in  England, 
contributing  to  the  general  agitation  the  political 
ballad  called  IVake,  London  Lads!  which  was  sung 


Picture  by  Rossetti  in  which  the  Children  s 
Faces  are  Portraits  of  May  Morris 


public  %\tc  anb  Socialism.  149 

with  much  enthusiasm  at  one  of  the  meetings  to  the 
appropriate  air,  The  Hardy  Norscmjii's  Home  of 
Yore,  and  was  afterwards  freely  distributed  in  the 
form  of  a  leaflet  among  the  mechanics  of  London.  It 
was  during  this  period  of  political  activity  that  J.  R. 
Green  wrote  of  him  to  E.  A.  Freeman  :  'M  rejoiced 
to  see  the  poet  Morris — whom  Oliphant  setteth  even 
above  you  for  his  un-Latinisms  —  brought  to  grief 
by  being  prayed  to  draw  up  a  circular  on  certain 
Eastern  matters,  and  gravelled  to  find  '  English 
words.'  1  insidiously  persuaded  him  that  the  liter- 
ary committee  had  fixed  on  him  to  write  one  of  a 
series  of  pamphlets  which  Gladstone  wants  brought 
out  for  the  public  enlightenment,  and  that  the  sub- 
ject assigned  him  was  'The  Results  of  the  Incidence 
of  Direct  Taxation  on  the  Christian  Rayah,'  but  that 
he  was  forbidden  to  speak  of  the  '  onfall  of  straight 
geld,'  or  other  such  'English'  forms.  I  left  him 
musing  and  miserable."  Musing  and  miserable  he 
may  well  have  been  at  finding  that  his  duty,  as  he 
conceived  it,  was  leading  him  into  such  unlovely 
paths,  but  the  English  of  his  polemical  writings  was 
unmistakable  enough  and  unconfused  by  any  affecta- 
tions, Saxon  or  Latin.  In  declining  to  stand  for  the 
Professorship  of  Poetry  at  Oxford  on  the  occasion  of 
Matthew  Arnold's  withdrawal  from  it,  he  had  con- 
fessed to  a  peculiar  inaptitude  for  expressing  himself 
except  in  the  one  way  in  which  his  gift  lay,  and  it 
was  true  that  his  mind  was  singularly  inept  outside 
its  natural  course.     He  had  not  a  reasoning  mind. 


I50  Milliam  riDorne. 

His  opinions,  dictated  as  they  were  chiefly  by 
sentiment,  were  not  worked  out  by  the  careful  pro- 
cesses dear  to  genuine  thinkers.  But  he  was  before 
all  things  a  believer.  No  man  was  ever  more  certain 
of  the  absolute  rectitude  of  his  views,  and  by  this 
sincerity  of  conviction  they  were  driven  home  to  his 
public.  He  was  so  eager  to  make  others  feel  as  he  felt 
that  he  spent  his  utmost  skill  upon  the  delivery  of  his 
message,  using  the  simple  and  downright  phrases 
that  could  be  understood  by  the  least  cultivated  of 
his  hearers.  It  was  impossible  to  listen  to  him,  says 
one  of  his  friends,  not  a  convert  to  his  views,  with- 
out for  the  time  at  least  agreeing  with  him.  Thus 
he  conquered  the  "  peculiar  inaptitude  "  of  which  he 
speaks  by  the  force  of  his  great  integrity,  and 
although  he  complained  that  ''the  cursed  words" 
went  to  water  between  his  fingers,  they  accom- 
plished their  object. 

"When  the  crisis  in  the  East  was  past,"  says  Mr. 
Mackail,  "  it  left  Morris  thoroughly  in  touch  with  the 
Radical  leaders  of  the  working  class  in  London,  and 
well  acquainted  with  the  social  and  economic  ideas 
which,  under  the  influence  of  widening  education 
and  of  the  international  movement  among  the  work- 
ing classes,  were  beginning  to  transform  their  politi- 
cal creed  from  an  individualist  Radicalism  into  a  more 
or  less  definite  doctrine  of  State  Socialism."  This 
contact  was  sufficient  to  kindle  into  activity  the 
ideas  implanted  in  his  own  mind  during  his  college 
days.    Carlyle  had  then  thundered  forth  his  amazing 


Ipublic  %\tc  anb  Socialiem. 


151 


anathemas  against  modern  civilisation  and  had  de- 
claimed that  Gurth  born  thrall  of  Cedric,  with  a  brass 
collar  round  his  neck,  was  happy  in  comparison  with 
the  poor  of  to-day  enjoying  their  "liberty  to  die 
by  starvation,"  no  displeasing  gospel  to  a  young 
medievalist ;  while  Ruskin  had  preached  with 
vociferous  eloquence  the  doctrine  that  happiness  in 
labour  is  the  end  and  aim  of  life.  From  the  be- 
ginning of  his  work  in  decorative  art  Morris  had 
shown  the  influence  of  these  beliefs  in  peace.  He 
was  now  to  let  them  lead  him  into  war. 

Before  he  wrote  himself  down  a  Socialist,  how- 
ever, he  set  on  foot  a  movement  not  so  important  in 
the  eyes  of  the  public,  but  much  more  characteristic 
of  his  personal  mission  in  the  world  of  life  and  art. 
He  had  long  before  learned  from  Ruskin  that  the  so- 
called  restoration  of  public  monuments  meant  "the 
most  total  destruction  which  a  building  can  suffer: 
a  destruction  out  of  which  no  remnants  can  be 
gathered:  a  destruction  accompanied  with  false  de- 
scription of  the  thing  destroyed."  Whatever  his 
feeling  may  have  been  concerning  the  destructive 
restoration,  of  which  he  must  have  seen  manifold 
examples  before  this  period  of  his  middle  age,  he 
seems  to  have  awakened  rather  suddenly  to  the 
necessity  of  taking  some  active  measure  to  check 
the  ravages  of  the  restorer.  Goaded,  finally,  by  the 
sight  of  alterations  going  on  in  one  of  the  beautiful 
parish  churches  near  Kelmscott,  he  conceived  the 
idea  of  forming  a  society  of  protest.     Early  in  1877 


152  Milllam  riDorrie, 

the  impending  fate  of  the  Abbey  Church  at  Tewkes- 
bury, under  the  devastating  hands  of  Sir  Gilbert 
Scott,  prompted  him  to  put  the  idea  at  once  before 
the  public,  and  he  wrote  to  the  Athencvum  a  letter  in 
which  he  went  straight  to  the  heart  of  his  subject 
with  clearness  and  simplicity. 

"  My  eye  just  now  caught  the  word  '  restoration  ' 
in  the  morning  paper,"  he  wrote,  ''and  on  looking 
closer,  I  saw  that  this  time  it  is  nothing  less  than  the 
Minster  of  Tewkesbury  that  is  to  be  destroyed  by 
Sir  Gilbert  Scott.  Is  it  altogether  too  late  to  do 
something  to  save  it, —  it  and  whatever  else  of  beau- 
tiful and  historical  is  still  left  us  on  the  sites  of  the 
ancient  buildings  we  were  once  so  famous  for  ? 
Would  it  not  be  of  some  use  once  for  all,  and  with 
the  least  delay  possible,  to  set  on  foot  an  association 
for  the  purpose  of  watching  over  and  protecting 
these  relics  which,  scanty  as  they  are  now  become, 
are  still  wonderful  treasures,  all  the  more  priceless 
in  this  age  of  the  world,  when  the  newly-invented 
study  of  living  history  is  the  chief  joy  of  so  many  of 
our  lives? 

"Your  paper  has  so  steadily  and  courageously 
opposed  itself  to  these  acts  of  barbarism  which  the 
modern  architect,  parson,  and  squire  call  '  restora- 
tion,' that  it  would  be  waste  of  words  here  to  enlarge 
on  the  ruin  that  has  been  wrought  by  their  hands  ; 
but,  for  the  saving  of  what  is  left,  I  think  I  may  write 
you  a  word  of  encouragement,  and  say  that  you  by 
no  means  stand  alone  in  the  matter,  and  that  there 


public  Xlfc  anb  Socialienu  153 

are  many  thoughtful  people  who  would  be  glad  to 
sacrifice  time,  money,  and  comfort  in  defence  of 
those  ancient  monuments  ;  besides,  though  1  admit 
that  the  architects  are,  with  very  few  exceptions, 
hopeless,  because  interest,  habit,  and  an  ignorance  yet 
grosser,  bind  them  ;  still  there  must  be  many  people 
whose  ignorance  is  accidental  rather  than  inveterate, 
whose  good  sense  could  surely  be  touched  if  it  were 
clearly  put  to  them  that  they  were  destroying  what 
they,  or  more  surely  still,  their  sons  and  sons'  sons 
would  one  day  fervently  long  for,  and  which  no 
wealth  or  energy  could  ever  buy  again  for  them. 

"What  1  wish  for,  therefore,  is  that  an  association 
should  be  set  on  foot  to  keep  a  watch  on  old  monu- 
ments, to  protest  against  all  '  restoration'  that  means 
more  than  keeping  out  wind  and  weather,  and,  by  all 
means,  literary  and  other,  to  awaken  a  feeling  that 
our  ancient  buildings  are  not  mere  ecclesiastical  toys, 
but  sacred  monuments  of  the  nation's  growth  and 
hope." 

In  less  than  a  month  the  association  was  formed 
under  the  title  of  the  "Society  for  Protection  of 
Ancient  Buildings,"  abbreviated  by  Morris  to  the 
"Anti-Scrape  Society,"  in  cheerful  reference  to  the 
pernicious  scraping  and  pointing  indulged  in  by 
the  restorers.  Morris  was  made  secretary  of  the 
Society,  and,  as  long  as  he  lived,  worked  loyally  in 
its  behalf,  giving,  in  addition  to  time  and  money, 
the  labour,  which  to  him  was  grievous,  of  lecturing 
for  it.     He  wrote  a  prospectus  that  was  translated 


154  nmtlUam  riDorrle. 

into  French,  German,  Italian,  and  Dutch,  and  among 
the  more  important  of  his  protests  were  those 
against  the  demolition  of  some  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful portions  of  St.  Mark's  at  Venice,  and  the  "be- 
dizening" of  the  interior  of  Westminster  Abbey. 

For  the  sentiment  which  inspired  him,  the  inex- 
tinguishable love  in  his  heart  toward  every  example 
however  humble  of  the  art  he  reverenced,  we  may 
turn  to  one  of  the  most  eloquently  reasonable  pas- 
sages of  his  numerous  lectures.  Closing  his  account 
of  pattern  designing  with  a  reference  to  the  creation 
of  modern  or  Gothic  art,  he  says  :  "Never  until  the 
time  of  that  death  or  cataleptic  sleep  of  the  so-called 
Renaissance  did  it  forget  its  origin,  or  fail  altogether 
in  fulfilling  its  mission  of  turning  the  ancient  curse  of 
labour  into  something  more  like  a  blessing." 

"As  to  the  way  in  which  it  did  its  work,"  he  con- 
tinues, "as  I  have  no  time,  so  also  I  have  but  little 
need  to  speak,  since  there  is  none  of  us  but  has  seen 
and  felt  some  portion  of  the  glory  which  it  left  behind, 
but  has  shared  some  portion  of  that  most  kind  gift  it 
gave  the  world  ;  for  even  in  this  our  turbulent  island, 
the  home  of  rough  and  homely  men,  so  far  away 
from  the  centres  of  art  and  thought  which  1  have 
been  speaking  of,  did  simple  folk  labour  for  those 
that  shall  come  after  them.  Here  in  the  land  we 
yet  love  they  built  their  homes  and  temples  ;  if  not 
so  majestically  as  many  peoples  have  done,  yet  in 
such  sweet  accord  with  the  familiar  nature  amidst 
which  they  dwelt,  that  when  by  some  happy  chance 


Ipublic  Xifc  anb  Socialism.  155 

we  come  across  the  work  they  wrought,  untouched 
by  any  but  natural  change,  it  fills  us  with  a  satisfy- 
ing untroubled  happiness  that  few  things  else  could 
bring  us.  Must  our  necessities  destroy,  must  our 
restless  ambition  mar,  the  sources  of  this  innocent 
pleasure,  which  rich  and  poor  may  share  alike — this 
communion  with  the  very  hearts  of  the  departed 
men  ?  Must  we  sweep  away  these  touching  memo- 
ries of  our  stout  forefathers  and  their  troublous  days 
that  won  our  present  peace  and  liberties  ? 

"  If  our  necessities  compel  us  to  it,  I  say  we  are 
an  unhappy  people;  if  our  vanity  lure  us  into  it,  I  say 
we  are  a  foolish  and  light-minded  people,  who  have 
not  the  wits  to  take  a  little  trouble  to  avoid  spoiling 
our  own  goods.  Our  own  goods?  Yes,  the  goods 
of  the  people  of  England,  now  and  in  time  to  come: 
we  who  are  now  alive  are  but  life-renters  of  them. 
Any  of  us  who  pretend  to  any  culture  know  well 
that  in  destroying  or  injuring  one  of  these  buildings 
we  are  destroying  the  pleasure,  the  culture — in  a 
word,  the  humanity  —  of  unborn  generations.  It  is 
speaking  very  mildly  to  say  that  we  have  no  right  to 
do  this  for  our  temporary  convenience.  It  is  speak- 
ing too  mildly.  I  say  any  such  destruction  is  an  act 
of  brutal  dishonesty.  .  .  .  It  is  in  the  interest 
of  living  art  and  living  history  that  I  oppose  '  restora- 
tion.' What  history  can  there  be  in  a  building  be- 
daubed with  ornament,  which  cannot  at  best  be 
anything  but  a  hopeless  and  lifeless  imitation  of  the 
hope  and  vigour  of  the  earlier  world  ?    As  to  the  art 


156  Iimmiam  flDoiTie. 

that  is  concerned  in  it,  a  strange  folly  it  seems  to  me 
for  us  who  live  among  these  bricken  masses  of 
hideoLisness,  to  waste  the  energies  of  our  short  lives 
in  feebly  trying  to  add  new  beauty  to  what  is 
already  beautiful.  Is  that  all  the  surgery  we  have 
for  the  curing  of  England's  spreading  sore  ?  Don't 
let  us  vex  ourselves  to  cure  the  antepenultimate 
blunders  of  the  world,  but  fall  to  on  our  own 
blunders.  Let  us  leave  the  dead  alone,  and,  our- 
selves living,  build  for  the  living  and  those  that  shall 
live.  Meantime,  my  plea  for  our  Society  is  this, 
that  since  it  is  disputed  whether  restoration  be  good 
or  not,  and  since  we  are  confessedly  living  in  a  time 
when  architecture  has  come  on  the  one  hand  to  Jerry 
building,  and  on  the  other  to  experimental  designing 
(good,  very  good  experiments  some  of  them),  let  us 
take  breath  and  wait;  let  us  sedulously  repair  our 
ancient  buildings,  and  watch  every  stone  of  them 
as  if  they  were  built  of  jewels  (as  indeed  they  are), 
but  otherwise  let  the  dispute  rest  till  we  have  once 
more  learned  architecture,  till  we  once  more  have 
among  us  a  reasonable,  noble,  and  universally  used 
style.  Then  let  the  dispute  be  settled.  1  am  not 
afraid  of  the  issue.  If  that  day  ever  comes,  we  shall 
know  what  beauty,  romance,  and  history  mean,  and 
the  technical  meaning  of  the  word  '  restoration  '  will 
be  forgotten. 

"Is  not  this  a  reasonable  plea?  It  means  pru- 
dence. If  the  buildings  are  not  worth  anything  they 
are  not  worth  restoring;  if  they  are  worth  anything 


public  Xife  ant)  Socialism.  157 

they  are  at  least  worth  treating  with  common  sense 
and  prudence. 

"Come  now,  I  invite  you  to  support  the  most 
prudent  Society  in  all  England." 

It  is  easy  to  understand  from  such  examples  as 
this  how  Morris  gained  his  popularity  as  a  lecturer. 
In  the  printed  sentences  you  read  the  eager,  per- 
suasive accent,  so  convincing  because  so  convinced. 
On  the  platform  he  stood,  say  his  friends,  like  a  con- 
queror, stalwart  and  sturdy,  his  good  grey  eyes 
flashing  or  twinkling,  his  voice  deepening  with  feel- 
ing, his  gesture  and  speech  sudden  and  spontaneous, 
his  aspect  that  of  an  insurgent,  a  fighter  against  cus- 
tom and  orthodoxy. 

It  was  not  long  after  the  formation  of  the  Society 
for  the  Protection  of  Ancient  Buildings  that  he  be- 
gan to  show  himself  a  rebel  in  more  than  words 
against  existing  social  laws.  The  steps  by  which 
he  reached  his  membership  in  the  Democratic  Fede- 
ration in  the  year  1883  are  not  very  easily  traced. 
Comments  on  the  distressing  gulf  between  rich  and 
poor  and  on  the  conditions  under  which  the  modern 
workingman  did  his  task  became  more  frequent  in 
his  letters  and  addresses.  His  mind  seemed  to  be 
gradually  adjusting  itself  to  the  thought  that  the 
only  hope  for  obtaining  ideal  conditions  in  which  — 
this  was  always  the  ultimate  goal  —  art  might  be 
constantly  associated  with  handicraft,  was  perhaps 
to  let  art  go  for  the  time  being,  and  upset  society 
and  all  its  conventions  in  preparation  for  a  new  earth. 


158  "UmilUam  nDorrie, 

"Art  must  go  under,"  he  wrote  in  one  of  his  private 
letters  ''where  or  however  it  may  come  up  again/' 
But  it  was  always  the  fate  of  art  that  concerned  him. 
He  never  really  understood  what  Socialism  tech- 
nically and  economically  speaking  meant.  He  read 
its  books  with  labour  and  sorrow,  and  struggled 
with  its  theories  in  support  of  his  antagonism  to  the 
commercial  methods  of  modern  business,  but  he 
gained  no  firm  grasp  of  any  underlying  political 
principle.  In  most  of  his  later  addresses  he  talked 
pure  sentiment  concerning  social  questions,  char- 
acteristically declaring  it  to  be  the  purest  reason. 
His  avowed  belief  was  that  ''workmen  should  be 
artists  and  artists  workmen,"  and  this,  he  felt,  could 
only  be  attained  under  the  freest  conditions.  A 
workman  should  not  be  clothed  in  shabby  garments, 
should  not  be  wretchedly  housed,  overworked,  or 
underfed.  But  neither  will  it  profit  him  much  if  he 
wear  good  clothes,  and  keep  short  hours,  and  eat 
wholesome  food,  and  contribute  to  the  ugliness  of 
the  wares  turned  out  by  commerce.  The  idea  that  a 
man  works  only  to  earn  leisure  in  which  he  does  no 
work  was  shocking  to  him  as  it  had  been  to  Ruskin. 
Pleasant  work  to  do,  leisure  for  other  work  of  a 
different  pleasantness,  this  was  what  the  working- 
man  really  wanted  if  only  he  knew  it.  It  was  clear 
to  Morris  that  he  himself  worked  "not  the  least  in 
the  world  for  the  sake  of  earning  leisure  by  it,"  but 
"partly  driven  by  the  fear  of  starvation  and  dis- 
grace," and  partly  because  he  loved  the  work  itself; 


public  Xlfc  anb  Socialism.  159 

and  while  he  was  ready  to  confess  tliat  he  spent  a 
part  of  his  leisure  "  as  a  dog  does  "  in  contemplation, 
and  liked  it  well  enough,  he  also  spent  part  of  it  in 
work  which  gave  him  as  much  pleasure  as  his  bread- 
earning  work,  neither  more  nor  less.  Obviously  if 
there  are  men  with  whom  such  is  not  the  case  it  is 
because  they  have  not  the  right  kind  of  work  to  do, 
and  are  not  doing  it  in  the  right  way,  and  it  is 
equally  obvious  that  the  wrong  work  and  the  wrong 
way  of  doing  it  are  forced  upon  them.  Left  to 
themselves  they  are  bound  to  do  what  pleases  them 
and  what  will  please  others  of  right  minds.  The 
ideal  handicraftsman  developing  under  an  ideal 
social  order  ''shall  put  his  own  individual  intel- 
ligence and  enthusiasm  into  the  goods  he  fashions. 
So  far  from  his  labour  being  'divided,'  which  is  the 
technical  phrase  for  his  always  doing  one  minute 
piece  of  work  and  never  being  allowed  to  think  of 
any  other,  so  far  from  that,  he  must  know  all  about 
the  ware  he  is  making  and  its  relation  to  similar 
wares;  he  must  have  a  natural  aptitude  for  his  work 
so  strong  that  no  education  can  force  him  away  from 
his  special  bent.  He  must  be  allowed  to  think  of 
what  he  is  doing  and  to  vary  his  work  as  the  cir- 
cumstances of  it  vary,  and  his  own  moods.  He 
must  be  forever  stirring  to  make  the  piece  he  is  at 
work  at  better  than  the  last.  He  must  refuse  at 
anybody's  bidding  to  turn  out,  1  won't  say  a  bad, 
but  even  an  indifferent  piece  of  work,  whatever  the 
public  want  or  think  they  want.     He  must  have  a 


i6o  "Mllllam  nDorris. 

voice,  and  a  voice  worth  listening  to  in  the  whole 
affair." 

This  attitude  is  almost  identical  with  that  of 
Ruskin.  To  see  how  the  theories  of  master  and 
pupil  coincide  one  has  only  to  read  The  Stones  of 
Venice  and  compare  with  the  passage  quoted  above 
the  famous  chapter  on  The  Nature  of  the  Gothic. 

"It  is  verily  this  degradation  of  the  operative 
into  a  machine,"  says  Ruskin,  "which,  more  than 
any  other  evil  of  the  times,  is  leading  the  mass  of 
the  nations  everywhere  into  vain,  incoherent,  de- 
structive struggling  for  a  freedom  of  which  they 
cannot  explain  the  nature  to  themselves.  Their 
universal  outcry  against  wealth  and  against  nobility  is 
not  forced  from  them  either  by  the  pressure  of  famine 
or  the  sting  of  mortified  pride.  These  do  much,  and 
have  done  much  in  all  ages;  but  the  foundations  of 
society  were  never  yet  shaken  as  they  are  at  this 
day.  It  is  not  that  men  are  ill-fed,  but  that  they 
have  no  pleasure  in  the  work  by  which  they  make 
their  bread,  and  therefore  look  to  wealth  as  the  only 
means  of  pleasure.  It  is  not  that  men  are  pained  by 
the  scorn  of  the  upper  classes,  but  they  cannot 
endure  their  own;  for  they  feel  that  the  kind  of 
labour  to  which  they  are  condemned  is  verily  a  de- 
grading one,  and  makes  them  less  than  men.  .  .  . 
We  have  much  studied  and  much  perfected,  of  late, 
the  great  civilised  invention  of  the  division  of  labour; 
only  we  give  it  a  false  name.  It  is  not,  truly  speak- 
ing, the  labour  that  is  divided;  but  the  men  —  divided 


public  Xifc  anb  Socialism.  i6i 

into  mere  segments  of  men  —  broken  into  small  frag- 
ments and  crumbs  of  life,  so  that  all  the  little  piece 
of  intelligence  that  is  left  in  a  man  is  not  enough  to 
make  a  pin  or  a  nail,  but  exhausts  itself  in  making 
the  point  of  a  pin,  or  the  head  of  a  nail.  .  .  . 
And  the  great  cry  that  rises  from  all  our  manufactur- 
ing cities,  louder  than  their  furnace  blast,  is  all  in 
very  deed  for  this, — that  we  manufacture  every- 
thing there  except  men.  .  .  .  And  all  the  evil 
to  which  that  cry  is  urging  our  myriads  can  be  met 
only  ...  by  a  right  understanding  on  the  part 
of  all  classes,  of  what  kinds  of  labour  are  good  for 
men,  raising  them  and  making  them  happy;  by  a 
determined  sacritke  of  such  convenience,  or  beauty, 
or  cheapness  as  is  to  be  got  only  by  the  degradation 
of  the  workman."  But  Ruskin  was  altogether  too 
much  of  an  aristocrat,  too  much  of  an  egoist,  to 
root  out  classes.  We  can  hardly  imagine  him 
preaching  as  Morris  finally  came  to  preach  a  revolu- 
tion which  should  make  it  impossible  for  him  to 
condescend.  He  could  devote  seven  thousand 
pounds  of  his  own  money  to  establishing  a  St. 
George  Society,  but  it  would  probably  never  have 
occurred  to  him  to  head  a  riot  in  Trafalgar  Square. 

When  Morris,  under  the  influence  of  old  theories 
and  new  associations,  came  to  consider  not  only  the 
desirability  but  the  possibility  of  establishing  a  social 
order  in  which  men  could  work  quite  happily  and 
art  could  get  loose  from  handcuffs  welded  and 
locked  by  commercialism,  it  was  a  necessity  of  his 


i62  TOiUiam  riDorns, 

temperament  that  he  should  turn  his  back  on  half- 
way methods  and  urge  drastic  reforms.  His  way  was 
not  the  way  of  compromise,  and  he  seriously  be- 
lieved that  if ''civilisation  "  could  be  swept  out  of 
the  path  by  a  revolution  which  should  destroy  all 
class  distinctions  and  all  machinery  and  machine- 
made  goods,  which  should  do  away  with  com- 
mercialism and  strip  the  world  to  its  bare  bones, 
so  that  men  could  start  afresh,  all  equal  and  all 
freed  from  the  superfluities  of  life,  there  would  grow 
up  a  charming  communism  in  which  kind  hearts 
would  take  the  place  of  coronets,  and  cheerful 
labour  the  place  of  hopeless  toil.  We  And  him 
writing  in  a  private  letter  —  madly,  yet  with  the 
downright  force  that  kindled  where  it  struck — that 
he  has  ''faith  more  than  a  grain  of  mustard  seed 
in  the  future  history  of  civilisation,"  that  he  now 
knows  it  to  be  doomed  to  destruction,  and  that  it 
is  a  consolation  and  joy  to  him  to  think  of  barbarism 
once  more  flooding  the  world,  "and  real  feelings  and 
passions,  however  rudimentary,  taking  the  place  of 
our  wretched  hypocrisies."  It  was  thus  he  thought, 
or  felt,  about  the  new  held  of  labour  upon  which  he 
was  entering,  and  it  is  from  this  point  of  view  that  he 
must  be  defended  against  the  slurs  that  have  been  cast 
at  him  as  a  "  Capitalist-Socialist."  He  did  not  ignore 
the  ideal  of  renunciation  which  had  tempted  him  in 
his  youth,  and  which  he  again  thought  of  in  his  mid- 
dle age  —  though  less  tempted,  perhaps.  But  he 
reasoned,  logically  enough,  that  for  one  man  or  a  few 


HONEYSUCKLE   DESIGN    FOR  LINEN 


public  %\tc  anb  Soclaliem.  i6 


J 


men  to  divide  his  or  their  wealth  with  the  poor 
would  not  advance  the  world  by  a  furlong  or  a  foot 
toward  the  state  of  things  which  he  had  at  heart  to 
bring  about.  It  might  raise  the  beneficiaries  a  little 
higher  in  the  ranks  —  in  other  words,  bring  them  a 
little  closer  to  the  dangerous  middle-class,  from 
which  came  the  worst  of  their  troubles,  and  it  might 
also  have  the  effect  of  making  them  a  tritle  more 
content  with  existing  conditions.  Neither  effect  was 
desirable  in  his  eyes.  A  divine  discontent  to  be 
spread  throughout  all  classes  was  the  end  and  aim  of 
such  Socialism  as  he  accepted.  Nothing  could  be 
done  except  through  the  antagonism  of  classes, 
which  seemed  in  itself  to  provide  a  remedy.  In 
News  from  Nowhere,  his  best  known  Socialistic 
romance,  the  name  of  which  was  perhaps  suggested 
by  Kingsley's  Utopian  and  anagrammatic  Erewhon, 
he  puts  into  the  mouth  of  an  old  man  who  is  him- 
self a  survival  from  the  days  of  ''class  slavery,"  a 
description  of  the  imaginary  change  to  an  ideal  Com- 
munism. Toward  the  end  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
it  is  assumed,  a  federation  of  labour  made  it  possible 
for  the  workmen  or  ''slaves"  to  establish  from  time 
to  time  important  strikes  that  would  sometimes  stop 
an  industry  altogether  for  a  while,  and  to  impose 
upon  their  "  masters  "  other  restrictions  that  seriously 
interfered  with  the  systematic  conduct  of  commerce. 
The  resulting  "bad  times"  reached  a  crisis  in  the 
year  1952,  when  the  "Combined  Workers"  deter- 
mined upon  the  bold  step  of  demanding  a  practical 


1 64  MllUam  flDorrie. 

reversal  of  classes,  by  which  they  should  have  the 
management  of  the  whole  natural  resources  of  the 
country,  together  with  the  machinery  for  using 
them.  The  upper  classes  resisting,  riots  ensued, 
then  the  "Great  Strike."  ''The  railways  did  not 
run,"  the  old  man  recalls;  *'the  telegraph  wires  were 
unserved;  flesh,  fish,  and  green  stuff  brought  to 
market  was  allowed  to  lie  there  still  packed  and 
perishing;  the  thousands  of  middle-class  families, 
who  were  utterly  dependent  for  the  next  meal  on 
the  workers,  made  frantic  efforts  through  their 
more  energetic  members  to  cater  for  the  needs  ot 
the  day,  and  amongst  those  of  them  who  could  not 
throw  off  the  fear  of  what  was  to  follow,  there  was, 
1  am  told,  a  certain  enjoyment  of  this  unexpected 
picnic  —  a  forecast  of  the  days  to  come  in  which 
all  labour  grew  pleasant."  Out  of  all  this  came 
civil  war,  with  destruction  of  wares  and  machinery 
and  also  the  destruction  of  the  spirit  of  commer- 
cialism. With  the  removal  of  the  spur  of  competi- 
tion it  is  admitted  that  there  was  a  temporary 
danger  of  making  men  dull  by  giving  them  too 
much  time  for  thought  or  idle  musing.  How  was 
this  danger  overcome?  By  a  growing  interest  in 
art,  to  be  sure.  The  people,  all  workmen  now,  and 
providing  very  simply  for  their  simple  needs,  ''no 
longer  driven  desperately  to  painful  and  terrible  over- 
work," began  to  wish  to  make  the  work  they  had 
in  hand  as  attractive  as  possible,  and  rudely  and 
awkwardly  to  ornament  the  wares  they  produced. 


public  Xlfc  anb  Socialism.  165 

''Thus  at  last  and  by  slow  degrees,"  the  old  man 
concludes,  "we  got  pleasure  into  our  work;  then 
we  became  conscious  of  that  pleasure,  and  cultivated 
it,  and  took  care  that  we  had  our  fill  of  it,  and  then 
all  was  gained  and  we  were  happy." 

There  is  little  here  to  charm  the  logically  con- 
structive mind,  acquainted  with  human  nature,  and 
in  the  lectures  setting  forth  in  more  detail  and  with 
more  attempt  at  practical  teaching  the  methods  by 
which  society  could  be  enlightened  and  raised  to 
his  standard  of  excellence,  Morris  boldly  invites  the 
scorn  of  the  political  economist  by  the  wholly 
visionary  character  of  his  pathetically  ''reasonable" 
views.  Nevertheless,  he  was  not  without  an  in- 
stinct for  distinguishing  social  evils  and  suggesting 
right  remedies.  Strip  his  doctrines  of  their  exag- 
gerated conclusions  from  false  premises,  and  it  is 
possible  to  find  in  them  the  seeds  of  many  reforms 
that  have  come  about  to  the  inestimable  benefit  of 
the  modern  world.  In  his  lecture  on  Useful  IVork 
versus  Useless  Toil,  the  very  title  of  which  is  a  flash 
of  genius,  he  advocates  the  kind  of  education  that 
is  directed  toward  finding  out  what  different  people 
are  fit  for,  and  helping  them  along  the  road  which 
they  are  inclined  to  take.  He  would  have  young 
people  taught  ''such  handicrafts  as  they  had  a  turn 
for  as  a  part  of  their  education,  the  discipline  of 
their  minds  and  bodies;  and  adults  would  also  have 
opportunities  of  learning  in  the  same  schools."  He 
preaches  the  necessity  of  agreeable  surroundings, 


1 66  Milliam  flDorns. 

claiming  that  science  duly  applied  would  get  rid  of 
the  smoke,  stench,  and  noise  of  factories,  and  that 
factories  and  buildings  in  which  work  is  carried  on 
should  be  made  decent,  convenient,  and  beautiful, 
while  workers  should  be  given  opportunities  of 
living  in  quiet  country  homes,  in  small  towns,  or 
in  industrial  colleges,  instead  of  being  obliged  to 
"pig  together"  in  close  city  quarters.  Not  one  of 
these  considerations  is  ignored  by  the  organisations 
now  endeavouring  in  the  name  of  civilisation  to 
raise  the  standard  of  the  community.  Manual 
training  schools,  free  kindergartens,  health  protec- 
tive associations,  model  tenement  societies,  have  all 
arisen  to  meet  in  their  own  ways  the  needs  to 
which  Morris  was  so  keenly  alive.  It  was  not  the 
word  reform,  however,  but  the  word  revolution,  that 
he  constantly  reiterated,  and  declined  to  relinquish 
in  favour  of  any  milder  term.  His  friend  William 
Clarke  has  summed  up  in  a  single  paragraph  the 
substance  of  many  conversations  held  with  him  on 
the  subject  of  social  progress.  ''Existing  society 
is,  he  thinks,  gradually,  but  with  increasing  momen- 
tum, disintegrating  through  its  own  rottenness. 
The  capitalist  system  of  production  is  breaking  down 
fast  and  is  compelled  to  exploit  new  regions  in 
Africa  and  other  parts,  where,  he  thinks,  its  term 
will  be  short.  Economically,  socially,  morally,  po- 
litically, religiously,  civilisation  is  becoming  bank- 
rupt. Meanwhile  it  is  for  the  Socialist  to  take 
advantage  of  this  disintegration  by  spreading  dis- 


Ipublic  Xifc  anb  Socialiem.  167 

content,  by  preaching  economic  truths,  and  by 
any  kind  of  demonstration  which  may  harass 
the  authorities  and  develop  among  the  people  an 
esprit  de  corps.  By  these  means  the  people  will,  in 
some  way  or  other,  be  ready  to  take  up  the  industry 
of  the  world  when  the  capitalist  class  is  no  longer 
able  to  direct  or  control  it." 

The  expression  "in  some  way  or  other"  very 
well  indicates  the  essential  vagueness  underlying 
Morris's  definite  speech.  He  had  no  idea  of  the 
means  by  which  the  people  could  be  educated  to  the 
assumption  of  unfamiliar  control.  The  utmost  that 
he  could  suggest  was  that  they  should  be  awakened 
to  the  beauty  of  life  as  he  saw  it  in  his  dreams. 
This  beauty  he  continually  set  before  them  in 
phrases  as  simple  and  as  eloquent  as  he  could  make 
them.  Nor  did  he  shirk  the  responsibilities  raised 
by  his  extreme  point  of  view.  Nothing  testifies 
more  truly  to  his  fidelity  of  nature  and  devotion  to 
his  ideal  than  his  readiness  to  put  aside  the  pursuits 
he  loved  with  his  whole  heart  and  take  up  activi- 
ties detested  by  him  for  many  years  of  that  gifted, 
interesting  life  of  his,  in  the  hope  of  bringing  about, 
for  people  whom  he  really  cared  for  only  in  the 
mass,  who  did  not  understand  him  and  whom  he  did 
not  very  well  understand,  an  order  of  things  which 
should  in  time,  but  not  in  his  time,  make  them  — 
so  he  thought  —  quite  happy.  The  extent  to  which 
he  renounced  was  not  slight. 

Now  indeed  was  the  time  when  his  friends  miofht 


1 68  TKHmiam  riDorrie. 

justly  lament  that  he  was  being  kept  labouring  at 
what  he  could  not  do,  with  work  all  round  that  he 
could  do  so  well.  First  he  joined  the  Democratic 
Federation  and  was  promptly  put  on  its  execut- 
ive committee.  We  find  him  writing  that  it  is 
naturally  harder  to  understand  the  subject  of  So- 
cialism in  detail  as  he  gets  alongside  of  it,  and  that  he 
often  gets  beaten  in  argument  even  when  he  knows 
he  is  right,  which  only  drives  him  to  more  desperate 
attempts  to  justify  his  theories  by  the  study  of 
other  people's  arguments.  While  he  was  a  member 
of  the  Federation  (a  definitely  Socialist  body  at 
the  time)  he  delivered  a  lecture  at  Oxford  with  the 
effect  of  rousing  consternation  in  the  University 
despite  the  fact  that  he  had  taken  pains  to  inform 
the  authorities  of  his  position  as  an  active  Socialist. 
They  did  not  understand  the  extent  of  his  activity, 
and  when  he  wound  up  an  agreeable  talk  by  frankly 
appealing  to  the  undergraduates  of  the  Russell  Club, 
at  whose  invitation  he  was  speaking,  to  join  the 
Democratic  Federation,  the  Master  of  University 
was  brought  to  his  feet  to  explain  that  nothing  of 
the  kind  had  been  foreseen  when  Mr.  Morris  was 
asked  to  express  there  "his  opinion  on  art  under  a 
democracy." 

Besides  his  lecturing,  which  went  on  in  London, 
or  at  Manchester,  Leeds,  Blackburn,  Leicester,  Glas- 
gow, and  anywhere  else  where  a  hopeful  oppor- 
tunity afforded,  he  was  writing  for  the  weekly 
paper  of  the  Federation,  the  little  sheet  called ///5///;^, 


public  Xifc  anb  Socialism.  169 

and  also  writing  pamphlets  for  distribution  among 
the  people.  The  measures  urged  in  Justice  for  im- 
mediate adoption  as  remedies  for  the  evils  of  exist- 
ing society  were: 

Free  Compulsory  Education  for  all  classes,  to- 
gether with  the  provision  of  at  least  one  wholesome 
meal  a  day  in  each  school. 

Eight  Hours  or  less  to  be  the  normal  Working 
day  in  all  trades. 

Cumulative  Taxation  upon  all  incomes  above 
a  fixed  minimum  not  exceeding  ^300  a  year. 

State  Appropriation  of  Railways,  with  or  without 
compensation. 

The  Establishment  of  National  Banks,  which  shall 
absorb  all  private  institutions  that  derive  a  profit 
from  operations  in  money  or  credit. 

Rapid  Extinction  of  the  National  Debt. 

Nationalisation  of  the  Land  and  organisation  of 
agricultural  and  industrial  armies  under  State  con- 
trol on  Cooperative  principles. 

The  objects  of  the  Federation  were:  "To  unite 
the  various  Associations  of  Democrats  and  Workers 
throughout  Great  Britain  and  Ireland  for  the  purpose 
of  securing  equal  rights  for  all,  and  forming  a  perma- 
nent centre  of  organisation;  to  agitate  for  the  ultimate 
adoption  of  the  programme  of  the  Federation;  to  aid 
all  Social  and  political  movements  in  the  direction  of 
these  reforms."  Morris  believed  himself  to  be  in  full 
sympathy  with  the  fundamental  principles  of  the 
Federation,  and  faithfully  resented  the  assumption 


I70  MilUam  flDorrle. 

of  a  kindly  intentioned  critic  who  stated  that  his 
imperfect  sympathy  with  them  must  in  charity  be 
supposed.  To  the  implication  that  he  cared  only 
for  art  and  not  for  the  other  side  of  the  social 
questions  he  had  been  writing  about,  he  responded: 
"  Much  as  I  love  art  and  ornament,  I  value  it  chiefly 
as  a  token  of  the  happiness  of  the  people,  and  1 
would  rather  it  were  all  swept  away  from  the  world 
than  that  the  mass  of  the  people  should  suffer  op- 
pression"; but  he  continued  with  the  familiar  chal- 
lenge, opportunity  to  utter  which  was  seldom  lost, 
"At  the  same  time.  Sir,  I  will  beg  you  earnestly  to 
consider  if  my  contention  is  not  true,  that  genuine 
Art  is  always  an  expression  of  pleasure  in  Labour?  " 
In  explaining  his  point  of  view  to  the  public  before 
whom  he  placed  his  little  collection  of  Socialist 
lectures,  he  expressed  his  conviction  that  all  the 
ugliness  and  vulgarity  of  civilisation,  which  his  own 
work  had  forced  him  to  look  upon  with  grief  and 
pain  are  ''  but  the  outward  expression  of  the  innate 
moral  baseness  into  which  we  are  forced  by  our 
present  form  of  society."  The  ethical  and  practical 
sides  of  the  problem  he  was  trying  to  face  honestly, 
grew  up  in  his  mind  as  he  dwelt  upon  its  artistic 
side,  and  he  made  noble  efforts  to  evolve  schemes 
of  practical  expediency.  In  his  reasonableness  he 
went  so  far  as  to  admit  the  possible  usefulness  of 
machinery  in  the  new  order  toward  which  he  was  di- 
recting the  attention  of  his  followers;  but  he  is  swift 
to  add,  "  for  the  consolation  of  the  artists,"  that  this 


public  Xifc  anb  Soclallem.  171 

usefulness  will  probably  be  but  temporary;  that  a 
state  of  social  order  would  lead,  at  first,  perhaps,  to 
a  great  development  of  machinery  for  really  useful 
purposes,  "because  people  will  still  be  anxious 
about  getting  through  the  work  necessary  to  hold- 
ing society  together";  but  after  a  while  they  will 
find  that  there  is  not  so  much  work  to  do  as 
they  expected  and  will  have  leisure  to  reconsider 
the  whole  subject,  and  then  "if  it  seems  to  them 
that  a  certain  industry  would  be  carried  on  more 
pleasantly  as  regards  the  worker,  and  more  effectu- 
ally as  regards  the  goods,  by  using  hand-work 
rather  than  machinery  they  will  certainly  get  rid 
of  their  machinery,  because  it  will  be  possible 
for  them  to  do  so."  "It  is  n't  possible  now,"  he 
adds;  "  we  are  not  at  liberty  to  do  so;  we  are  slaves 
to  the  monsters  we  have  created.  And  1  have  a 
kind  of  hope  that  the  very  elaboration  of  machinery 
in  a  society  whose  purpose  is  not  the  multiplication 
of  labour,  as  it  now  is,  but  the  carrying  on  of  a 
pleasant  life,  as  it  would  be  under  social  order,  — 
that  the  elaboration  of  machinery,  I  say,  will  lead  to 
the  simplification  of  life,  and  so  once  more  to  the 
limitation  of  machinery." 

Although  the  discussion  of  methods  and  external 
forms  was  entirely  foreign  to  Morris's  habit  of  mind, 
he  was  not  averse  to  discussing  the  history  of  so- 
ciety. He  was  not  much  more  an  historian  than 
he  was  an  economist  in  the  strict  sense.  He  ig- 
nored,   idealised,    and    blackened   at    will,    always 


172  IMiUiam  flDorris, 

perfectly  certain  that  he  was  setting  forth  the  contrast 
between  the  past  and  the  present  in  its  true  light; 
but  his  delight  in  the  medieval  past,  which  was 
the  only  past  to  which  he  gave  much  attention, 
lends  to  his  pictures  of  it  a  charm  most  appealing 
to  those  who  have  not  too  prodding  a  prejudice 
in  favour  of  historical  accuracy.  He  is  at  his  best 
when  he  breaks  from  his  grapple  with  the  subject 
of  the  commercial  classes  and  their  development 
to  evoke  the  visions  which  neither  history  nor 
economics  could  obscure  in  his  mind.  ''Not  sel- 
dom 1  please  myself  with  trying  to  realise  the  face 
of  medicisval  England,"  he  says  to  the  motley  audi- 
ence gathering  at  a  street  corner  or  in  some  dingy 
little  hall  or  shed  to  listen  to  him,  "the  many  chases 
and  great  woods,  the  stretches  of  common  tillage 
and  common  pasture  quite  unenclosed;  the  rough 
husbandry  of  the  tilled  parts,  the  unimproved  breeds 
of  cattle,  sheep,  and  swine;  especially  the  latter,  so 
lank  and  long  and  lathy,  looking  so  strange  to  us; 
the  strings  of  packhorses  along  the  bridle-roads;  of 
the  scantiness  of  the  wheel-roads,  scarce  any  except 
those  left  by  the  Romans,  and  those  made  from 
monastery  to  monastery;  the  scarcity  of  bridges,  and 
people  using  ferries  instead,  or  fords  where  they 
could;  the  little  towns,  well  bechurched,  often 
walled;  the  villages  just  where  they  are  now  (ex- 
cept for  those  that  have  nothing  but  the  church 
left  to  tell  of  them),  but  better  and  more  populous; 
their  churches,  some  big  and  handsome,  some  small 


public  Xifc  an^  Socialiem. 


/J 


and  curious,  but  all  crowded  with  altars  and  furni- 
ture, and  gay  with  pictures  and  ornament;  the  many 
religious  houses,  with  their  glorious  architecture; 
the  beautiful  manor-houses,  some  of  them  castles 
once,  and  survivals  from  an  earlier  period;  some 
new  and  elegant;  some  out  of  all  proportion  small 
for  the  importance  of  their  lords.  How  strange  it 
would  be  to  us  if  we  could  be  landed  in  fourteenth- 
century  England;  unless  we  saw  the  crest  of  some 
familiar  hill  like  that  which  yet  bears  upon  it  a 
symbol  of  an  English  tribe,  and  from  which,  look- 
ing down  on  the  plain  where  Alfred  was  born,  1 
once  had  many  such  ponderings,  we  should  not 
know  into  what  country  of  the  world  we  were 
come:   the  name  is  left,  scarce  a  thing  else." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
PUBLIC   LIFE  AND   SOCIALISM  (Continued). 

BY  the  latter  part  of  1884  the  political  agitations 
and  internal  differences  in  the  Federation, 
now  called  The  Social  Democratic  Federa- 
tion, became  so  violent  as  to  force  Morris  to  leave  the 
association  in  which  he  had  had  no  desire  to  be  a 
.eader,  but  had  been  unable  to  keep  the  position 
of  acquiescent  follower.  In  his  connection  with 
this  and  other  public  organisations,  the  underlying 
gentleness  and  real  humility  of  his  nature  was 
clearly  to  be  seen.  He  learned  patience  through 
his  conflict  with  unsympathetic  minds.  From  the 
weary  experience  of  working  in  constant  intercourse 
with  men  whose  temper  and  practice  and  many  of 
whose  theories  were  directly  antagonistic  to  his 
own,  although  identified  with  them  in  the  public 
mind  by  a  common  responsibility,  he  learned  to 
subdue  those  elements  of  his  temperament  that 
worked  against  the  success  of  what  he  had  most 
loyally  at  heart.     From  self-confidence,   a  critical 

habit,  an  overbearing  positiveness  of  assertion,  he 

174 


MERTON   ABBEY   WORKS 


WASHING   CLOTH  AT  THE  MERTON   ABBEY  WORKS 


public  Xife  an^  Socialism.  175 

passed  to  comparative  reticence,  tolerance,  even  do- 
cility. To  his  equals  it  was  painful  to  see  ignorant 
men  assign  to  him  his  task,  but  he  never  failed  to 
comply  instantly  with  their  orders. 

It  could  not,  however,  have  been  an  education  in 
which  he  could  take  conscious  pleasure,  and  at  this 
juncture  he  doubtless  would  have  been  happy  indeed 
could  he  have  gone  quietly  back  to  the  weaving  and 
dyeing  and  writing  of  poetry  with  which  his  new 
preoccupation  had  seriously  interfered.  His  con- 
science, however,  was  too  deeply  involved  to  permit 
a  desertion,  which  would,  he  said,  be  dastardly.  The 
question  now  constantly  in  his  mind  was  how  he 
would  have  felt  against  the  system  under  which  he 
lived  had  he  himself  been  poor.  He  was  convinced 
that  he  would  have  found  it  unendurable.  There- 
fore, with  a  longing  glance  at  his  chintz  bleaching  in 
the  sunlight  and  pure  air  of  Merton  Abbey,  he  put 
his  shoulder  to  the  wheel  again,  and,  gathering  to- 
gether a  few  of  his  sympathisers,  inaugurated  a  new 
party,  the  Socialist  League,  with  the  famous  little 
Commonweal  for  its  organ,  a  monthly  paper  now  the 
joy  of  collectors  on  account  of  the  beautiful  head- 
ings of  Walter  Crane  and  the  remarkable  quality 
of  the  contributions  by  Morris  himself.  In  this  new 
society,  for  which  he  was  primarily  responsible, 
Morris  found  his  work  redoubled.  He  was  editor  of 
the  Commonweal  as  well  as  contributor  to  it.  He 
continued  his  lecturing,  often  under  the  most  de- 
pressing conditions,  speaking  to  small  and  indifferent 


176  TOilUam  riDorris. 

audiences  in  small  and  miserable  quarters.  At  Ham- 
mersmith he  instituted  a  branch  of  the  League  in 
the  room  previously  given  up  to  his  carpet-weaving, 
and  there  he  gave  Sunday  evening  addresses.  On 
Saturday  afternoons  and  Sunday  mornings  he  spoke 
at  the  outdoor  meetings  which  were  to  be  the  in- 
sidious foes  o.f  his  health,  and  which  more  than  once 
brought  him  into  personal  notoriety  of  a  disagreeable 
kind. 

The  first  of  these  occasions  was  on  the  21st 
of  September,  1885,  when  a  number  of  people  were 
arrested  for  gathering  together  that  Sunday  morn- 
ing at  the  corner  of  Dod  Street  and  Burdett  Road 
against  orders  from  the  authorities  to  the  effect  that 
meetings  at  that  place  —  a  favourite  spot  with  open- 
air  speakers  —  must  be  stopped.  Morris,  with  other 
members  of  the  League,  was  present  in  court  when 
the  prisoners  were  brought  up,  and  joined  in  the 
hisses  and  cries  of  ''  Shame!  "  when  one  prisoner  was 
sentenced  to  two  months'  hard  labour  and  the  others 
were  fined.  Morris  was  arrested,  subjected  to  a  lit- 
tle questioning  from  the  magistrate,  and  dismissed. 
The  following  Sunday  another  meeting,  comprising 
many  thousands  of  people,  was  held  on  the  for- 
bidden corner ;  nothing  occurred,  and  they  dispersed 
victoriously.  The  next  year  a  Sunday-morning  meet- 
ing in  a  street  off  Edgeware  Road  was  interfered  with 
by  the  police,  and  Morris  was  summoned  to  the 
police  court  and  fined  a  shilling  and  costs  for  the 
offence  of  obstructing  the  highway. 


public  Xifc  an^  Socialiem.  177 

Out  of  these  experiences  resulted,  we  may  very 
well  imagine,  the  farce  entitled:  The  Tables  Turned; 
or,  Nupkins  Awakened,  given  at  an  entertainment  in 
the  Hall  of  the  Socialist  League,  at  Farringdon 
Road,  on  October  15,  1887.  Copies  of  it  are  still 
in  existence — sorry  little  pamphlets  in  blue  wrappers, 
bearing  no  kinship  to  the  aristocratic  products  of  the 
Kelmscott  Press  so  soon  to  follow,  hut  extremely 
entertaining  as  showing  Morris  in  his  least  con- 
ventional and  most  aggressive  public  mood.  As  the 
pamphlet  is  quite  rare,  a  brief  description  of  its  con- 
tents is  not,  perhaps,  superfluous,  although  its  liter- 
ary merit  amounts  to  as  little  as  possible  considering 
its  authorship.  It  opens  with  a  scene  in  a  court  of 
justice,  Justice  Nupkins  presiding,  in  which  a  Mr. 
La-di-da  is  found  guilty  of  swindling  and  of  robbing 
the  widow  and  the  orphan.  He  is  sentenced  to  im- 
prisonment for  the  space  of  one  calendar  month. 
Next  Mary  Pinch,  a  poor  woman  (the  part  was  taken 
by  Morris's  daughter  May),  is  accused  of  stealing 
three  loaves  of  bread,  and,  after  absurd  and  contra- 
dictory testimony  by  witnesses  for  the  prosecution 
(constables  and  sergeants),  is  sentenced  to  eighteen 
months  of  hard  labour.  Next,  John  Freeman,  a 
Socialist,  is  accused  of  conspiracy,  sedition,  and  ob- 
struction of  the  highway.  The  Archbishop  of  Can- 
terbury (this  role  enacted  by  Morris),  Lord  Tennyson, 
and  Professor  Tyndall  are  called  as  witnesses  and 
give  testimony,  the  manner  and  speech  of  the  re- 
nowned originals  being  somewhat  rudely  parodied. 


178  imuiiam  riDorrls. 

After  contradictory  evidence  by  these  witnesses  and 
the  former  ones,  the  prisoner  is  sentenced  to  six 
years'  penal  servitude  with  a  fine  of  one  hundred 
pounds,  his  offence  having  been  an  open-air  speech 
advocating  the  principles  of  Socialism.  As  his  sen- 
tence is  pronounced  the  Marseillaise  is  heard,  and  a 
Socialist  ensign  enters  with  news  that  the  Revolu- 
tion has  begun. 

It  is  in  the  second  part  that  the  tables  are  turned 
upon  Nupkins.  The  scene  this  time  is  laid  in  the 
fields  near  a  country  village,  with  a  copse  close  by. 
The  time  is  after  the  Revolution.  Justice  Nupkins  is 
found  skulking  in  the  copse,  half  mad  with  fear  at 
the  reversal  of  social  conditions,  his  past  cruelty  giv- 
ing him  small  reason  to  hope  for  gentle  treatment 
at  the  hands  of  the  former  "  lower  classes,"  who  are 
now  running  affairs  to  suit  themselves.  He  meets 
Mary  Pinch,  who  pities  his  deplorable  aspect  and 
invites  him  to  her  house,  now  a  pleasant  and  pros- 
perous home.  He  cannot  believe  in  the  sincerity  of 
her  apparent  kindness,  and  flees  from  her  in  a  panic, 
only  to  meet  other  of  his  former  victims  who  further 
alarm  him  by  pretending  to  arrest  him  and  give  him 
a  mock  trial,  during  which  he  thinks  he  is  to  be  sen- 
tenced to  death.  He  learns  at  last  that  under  the 
beautiful  new  order  he  is  free  to  do  what  he  pleases, 
and  may  dig  potatoes  and  earn  his  own  living  by 
such  tilling  of  the  soil.  The  citizens  dance  about 
him  singing  the  following  words  to  the  tune  of  the 
Carmagnole : 


public  Xlfe  anb  Socialism.  179 

What 's  this  that  the  days  and  the  days  have  done  ? 
Man's  lordship  over  man  hath  gone. 

How  fares  it,  then,  with  high  and  low  ? 
Equal  on  earth  they  thrive  and  grow. 

Bright  is  the  sun  for  everyone; 

Dance  we,  dance  we  the  Carmagnole. 

How  deal  ye,  then,  with  pleasure  and  pain  ? 
Alike  we  share  and  bear  the  twain. 

And  what 's  the  craft  whereby  ye  live  ? 
Earth  and  man's  work  to  all  men  give. 

How  crown  ye  excellence  of  worth  ? 
■With  leave  to  serve  all  men  on  earth. 

What  gain  that  lordship's  past  and  done  ? 
World's  wealth  for  all  and  everyone. 

This  somewhat  childlike  but  not  too  bland  revenge 
on  the  powers  of  the  law  met  with  an  enthusiastic 
reception  at  the  Hall  of  the  Socialist  League  ;  Mr. 
Bernard  Shaw,  who  was  present,  declaring  that  there 
had  been  no  such  successful  "  hrst  night "  within  liv- 
ing memory. 

The  year  1887  was  marked,  however,  by  events 
much  more  serious  than  the  acting  of  a  little  farce. 
On  the  13th  of  November, — "Bloody  Sunday"  it 
was  called, — the  efforts  of  the  Government  to  check 
open-air  speaking  culminated  in  an  organised  riot  on 
the  part  of  the  Socialists  in  alliance  with  the  extreme 
Radicals.  Sir  Charles  Warren  had  prohibited  by 
proclamation  the  holding  of  any  meeting  in  Trafalgar 
Square, —  a  meeting  having  been  announced  to  take 


i8o  Milliam  flDorrie, 

place  there  to  protest  against  the  h'ish  policy  of  the 
Government.  Thereupon  it  was  agreed  by  the  So- 
cialist League,  the  Social  Democratic  Federation,  the 
Irish  National  League,  and  certain  Radical  clubs  that 
their  members  should  assemble  at  various  centres 
and  march  toward  Trafalgar  Square.  Morris  put 
himself  at  the  head  of  the  Clerkenwell  contingent, 
first  delivering  a  short  speech  mounted  on  a  cart  in 
company  with  Mrs.  Besant  and  others.  He  declared 
that  wherever  it  was  attempted  to  put  down  free 
speech  it  was  a  bounden  duty  to  resist  the  attempt 
by  every  possible  means,  and  told  his  audience  that 
he  thought  their  business  was  to  get  to  the  Square  by 
some  means  or  other;  that  he  intended  to  do  his 
best  to  get  there,  whatever  the  consequences  might 
be,  and  that  they  must  press  on  like  orderly  people 
and  good  citizens.  Thus  pressing  on,  with  flags 
flying  and  bands  playing,  they  were  met  at  the 
Bloomsbury  end  of  St.  Martin's  Lane  by  the  police, 
mounted  and  on  foot,  who  charged  in  among  them, 
striking  right  and  left,  and  causing  complete  disorder 
in  the  ranks.  The  triumph  of  law  and  order  over 
the  various  columns  of  the  demonstrators  was  soon 
complete,  and  the  outcome  consisted  of  the  arrest  of 
three  hundred  men  or  more  (many  of  whom  were 
sent  to  prison  and  a  few  condemned  to  penal  servi- 
tude) and  the  killing  of  three.  The  first  to  die  was 
Alfred  Linnell,  for  whom  a  public  funeral  was  given 
—  great  masses  of  men  marching  in  perfect  and 
solemn   order   to    Bow  Cemetery,  where    he  was 


public  Xifc  anb  Sociallein.  i8i 

buried,  the  service  at  the  grave  being  read  by  the 
light  of  a  lantern.  Such  an  event  would  inevitably 
stir  Morris  to  sympathetic  rage,  and  the  dirge  written 
by  him  to  be  sung  as  poor  Linnell  was  buried  has  an 
intlammatory  sound  despite  the  obvious  effort  at 
restraint: 

We  asked  them  for  a  life  of  toilsome  earning, 
They  bade  us  bide  their  leisure  for  our  bread; 

We  craved  to  speak  to  tell  our  woful  learning, 
We  came  back  speechless,  bearing  back  our  dead! 

Thus  time  was  spent.  Sometimes  Morris  was 
heading  processions  "  with  the  face  of  a  Crusader," 
says  Joseph  Pennell,  describing  one  occasion  on 
which  he  led  a  crowd,  "among  the  red  Hags, 
singing  with  all  his  might  iht  Marseillaise" — into 
Westminster  Abbey  to  attend  the  Sunday  services. 
Sometimes  he  was  bailing  out  his  friends  who  had 
been  "run  in"  by  the  police.  Sometimes  he  was 
tramping,  whatever  the  weather,  at  the  head  of  the 
workless  workers  of  Hammersmith  to  interview  the 
Guardians  of  the  Poor.  Sometimes  he  was  de- 
livering his  lectures  among  woful  hovels  in  tumble- 
down sheds  to  a  score  or  so  of  people  of  whose 
comprehension  he  felt  most  doubtful.  Always  he 
was  preaching  "Education  toward  Revolution,"  but 
with  an  ever-increasing  consciousness  that  a  vast 
amount  of  education  was  needed  before  revolution 
could  be  effectively  reforming.  His  imagination  had 
formed  great  ideals  and  had  pictured  those  ideals  in 


1 82  Milliam  ni>orrl9. 

triumphant  practice,  but  his  practical  sense  was 
sufficient  to  show  him  the  futility  of  unintelligent 
action.  He  had  spent  much  money,  not  in  profit- 
sharing  among  his  workmen  (although  this  obtained 
to  a  certain  extent  in  his  business),  but  in  bearing  the 
various  and  heavy  expenses  imposed  by  the  publica- 
tion of  the  organs  of  Socialism,  which  he  supported 
almost  as  largely  by  his  purse  as  by  his  pen,  and  by 
a  thousand  other  needs  of  the  cause  to  which  in 
1882  he  had  also  sacrificed  the  greater  part  of  his 
valuable  library.  He  had  spent  much  time,  which, 
to  one  so  deeply  interested  in  pursuits  for  which  any 
one  life  is  far  too  short,  meant  infinitely  more  than 
the  expenditure  of  money  or  the  relinquishing  of  pro- 
perty that,  after  all,  may  be  got  back  again.  And  he 
had  worked  against  the  grain  with  all  sorts  and  con- 
ditions of  companions,  from  whom  he  was  as  widely 
separated  as  the  east  is  from  the  west  —  never  more 
widely  than  when  he  was  marching  by  their  side 
toward  a  goal  that  neither  could  see  clearly.  He 
was  now  longing  more  and  more  to  get  back  to  his 
own  life  and  away  from  a  life  so  foreign.  As  he  had 
said  in  the  first  flush  of  his  enthusiasm,  "  Art  must 
go  under,"  he  was  now  prepared  ''to  see  all  or- 
ganised Socialism  run  into  the  sand  for  a  while."  It 
is  not  surprising  that  he  "somehow  did  not  seem 
to  care  much  "  when  the  Socialist  League  became 
disintegrated  and  insolvent.  He  had  done  his  best 
for  it,  but  its  strongest  members  had  drifted  away 
from  it,  the  executive  control  had  been  gained  by  a 


public  Xlfc  anb  Socialism.  183 

group  of  Anarchists,  and  Morris  had  been  by  these 
deposed  from  the  editorship  of  the  Commonweal. 
Before  the  society  reached  its  lowest  depths  he  re- 
signed, giving  expression  in  the  Commonweal  for  the 
isth  of  November,  1890,  to  his  feeling  in  the  form  it 
then  took  toward  the  movement  which  so  long  had 
carried  him  out  of  his  course  and  kept  him  in 
turbulent  waters.  This  movement  had  then  been 
going  on  for  about  seven  years.  Those  concerned 
in  it  had  made,  he  thought,  "about  as  many  mis- 
takes as  any  other  party  in  a  similar  space  of  time." 
When  he  first  joined  it  he  hoped  that  some  lead- 
ers would  turn  up  among  the  workingmen  who 
''  would  push  aside  all  middle-class  help  and  be- 
come great  historical  figures."  This  hope  he  had 
pretty  well  relinquished.  In  the  beginning  there 
had  been  little  said  about  anything  save  the  great 
ideals  of  Socialism,  but  as  the  Socialist  idea  had 
become  more  and  more  impressed  upon  the  epoch  a 
somewhat  vulgarised  and  partial  realisation  of  these 
ideals  had  pressed  upon  the  friends  of  the  cause. 
They  began  to  think  of  methods,  and  mostly  of 
''  methods  of  impatience,"  as  Morris  from  his  ripened 
and  moderated  point  of  view  now  designated  them. 
''There  are  two  tendencies  in  this  matter  of 
methods,"  he  said;  ''on  the  one  hand  is  our  old 
acquaintance,  palliation,  elevated  now  into  vastly 
greater  importance  than  it  used  to  have,  because  of 
the  growing  discontent,  and  the  obvious  advance  of 
Socialism;  on  the  other  is  the  method  of  partial, 


1 84  MlUiam  riDoriis. 

necessarily  futile,  inconsequent  revolt,  or  riot  rather, 
against  the  authorities,  who  are  our  absolute  mas- 
ters, and  can  easily  put  it  down. 

"With  both  these  methods  I  disagree;  and  that 
the  more  because  the  palliatives  have  to  be  clamoured 
for,  and  the  riots  carried  out  by  men  who  do  not 
know  what  Socialism  is,  and  have  no  idea  what  their 
next  step  is  to  be,  if,  contrary  to  all  calculation,  they 
should  happen  to  be  successful.  Therefore,  at  the 
best,  our  masters  would  be  our  masters  still,  because 
there  would  be  nothing  to  take  their  place.  IVe  are 
not  ready  for  such  a  change  as  that!"  The  time 
was  favourable,  he  thought,  for  preaching  the  simple 
principles  of  Socialism  regardless  of  the  policy  of  the 
passing  hour,  nor  was  any  more  active  work  de- 
sirable. "  I  say,  for  us  to  make  Socialists/'  he  con- 
cluded, "is  the  business  at  present,  and  at  present 
I  do  not  think  we  can  have  any  other  useful 
business.  Those  who  are  not  really  Socialists  — 
who  are  Trades  Unionists,  disturbance-breeders,  or 
what  not  — will  do  what  they  are  impelled  to  do, 
and  we  cannot  help  it.  At  the  worst  there  will  be 
some  good  in  what  they  do;  but  we  need  not  and 
cannot  heartily  work  with  them,  when  we  know 
that  their  methods  are  beside  the  right  way. 

"Our  business,  1  repeat,  is  the  making  of  So- 
cialists, i.e.,  convincing  people  that  Socialism  is 
good  for  them  and  is  possible.  When  we  have 
enough  people  of  that  way  of  thinking,  they  will 
fmd  out  what  action  is  necessary  for  putting  their 


public  Xlfe  anb  Socialiem.  185 

principles  in  practice.  Therefore,  I  say,  make  So- 
cialists. We  Socialists  can  do  nothing  else  that  is 
useful." 

This  was  practically  the  end  of  militant  Socialism 
for  Morris.  Together  with  a  handful  of  his  true  fol- 
lowers and  sympathisers  he  did  organise  or  reorgan- 
ise under  very  simple  rules  a  little  society  named  the 
Hammersmith  Socialist  Society,  which  took  the  place 
of  the  Hammersmith  Branch  of  the  Socialist  League. 
The  manifesto  explained  that  the  separation  had  been 
made  because  the  members  of  the  new  society  did 
not  hold  the  Anarchistic  views  of  the  majority  of  the 
old  society's  members,  and  would  be  likely  to  waste 
in  bickering  time  "which  should  be  spent  in  at- 
tacking capitalism."  The  business  of  the  Ham- 
mersmith Society  was  to  spread  the  principles  of 
Socialism,  the  method  so  warmly  recommended  by 
Morris  in  his  Commonweal  article.  But  it  was  obvi- 
ous that  his  interest  was  no  longer  keen  in  even  this 
passive  mode  of  advancing  the  cause  for  which  he 
had  laboured  so  long  and,  on  the  whole,  so  thank- 
lessly. He  set  himself  dutifully  to  work  at  writing 
the  manifesto,  but  complained,  "I  would  so  much 
rather  go  on  with  my  Saga  work." 

It  cannot  be  said,  however,  that  he  was  incon- 
sistent. He  had  gone  into  militant  Socialism  as  he 
went  into  everything,  with  a  superabundant  energy 
that  must  work  itself  off  in  activity.  But  there  was 
more  vehemence  than  narrowness  in  his  partisan- 
ship.    When  his  party  forsook  the  principles  for  the 


i86  Milliam  flDorne. 

sake  of  which  he  had  joined  it,  he  forsook  the 
party.  He  learned  of  human  nature  much  that  was 
discouraging  during  his  efforts  to  make  many  of  his 
fellows  work  together  in  harmony,  but  he  brought 
out  of  the  fiery  experience  an  unharmed  ideal.  And 
among  the  clashing  of  creeds  and  the  warring  of 
minds  he  played  the  part  of  peacemaker  to  an  extent 
remarkable  in  so  impulsive  a  nature.  "  It  seemed  as 
though  he  wanted  to  have  all  his  own  way,"  says 
one  of  his  acquaintances,  "yet  put  him  in  the  chair 
at  a  meeting  and  he  was  as  patient  as  the  mildest  of 
us."  His  inmost  belief  was  much  the  same  at  the 
end  as  at  the  beginning,  —  matured  by  study  and 
tempered  by  practical  failures,  but  holding  to  the 
fundamental  idea  that  art  is  the  great  source  of  pleas- 
ure in  human  life  as  well  as  pleasure's  best  result, 
and  must  be  made  possible  for  everyone  to  practise 
with  a  free  mind  and  a  body  unwearied  by  hopeless 
toil.  The  letter  to  the  Daily  Chronide  of  the  loth 
of  November,  1893,  on  ''Help  for  the  Miners,  the 
Deeper  Meaning  of  the  Struggle,"  sounds  the  familiar 
note  as  positively  as  ever,  and  contains  all  that  is 
required  to  represent  the  creed  of  his  later  years. 
1  hold  firmly  to  the  opinion,"  he  says  in  this  letter, 
that  all  worthy  schools  of  art  must  be  in  the  future, 
as  they  have  been  in  the  past,  the  outcome  of  the 
aspirations  of  the  people  towards  the  beauty  and 
true  pleasure  of  life.  And,  further,  now  that  demo- 
cracy is  building  up  a  new  order,  which  is  slowly 
emerging  from  the  confusion  of  the  commercial  pe- 


IPublic  Xlfe  ant)  Socialism.  187 

riod,  these  aspirations  of  the  people  towards  beauty 
can  only  be  born  from  a  condition  of  practical  equality, 
of  economical  condition  amongst  the  whole  popula- 
tion. Lastly,  I  am  so  confident  that  this  equality 
will  be  gained  that  I  am  prepared  to  accept,  as  a  con- 
sequence of  the  process  of  that  gain,  the  apparent 
disappearance  of  what  art  is  now  left  us,  because  1 
am  sure  that  that  will  be  but  a  temporary  loss,  to  be 
followed  by  a  genuine  new  birth  of  art  which  will 
be  the  spontaneous  expression  of  the  pleasure  of  life 
innate  in  the  whole  people.  This,  1  say,  is  the  art 
which  I  look  forward  to,  not  as  a  vague  dream,  but 
as  a  practical  certainty,  founded  on  the  general  well- 
being  of  the  people.  It  is  true  that  the  blossom  of  it 
1  shall  not  see;  therefore  I  may  be  excused  if,  in  com- 
mon with  other  artists,  I  try  to  express  myself  through 
the  art  of  to-day,  which  seems  to  us  to  be  only  a 
survival  of  the  organic  art  of  the  past,  in  which  the 
people  shared,  whatever  the  other  drawbacks  of  their 
condition  might  have  been.  .  .  .  Yet  if  we  shall 
not  (those  of  us  who  are  as  old  as  I  am)  see  the  New 
Art,  the  expression  of  the  general  pleasure  of  life,  we 
are  even  now  seeing  the  seed  of  it  beginning  to  ger- 
minate. For  if  genuine  art  be  impossible  without 
the  help  of  the  useful  classes,  how  can  these  turn 
their  attention  to  it  if  they  are  living  amidst  sordid 
cares  which  press  upon  them  day  in,  day  out?  The 
first  step,  therefore,  towards  the  new  birth  of  art 
must  be  a  definite  rise  in  the  condition  of  the  work- 
ers; their  livelihood  must  (to  say  the  least  of  it)  be 


1 88  Mllliam  riDorns. 

less  niggardly  and  less  precarious,  and  their  hours  of 
labour  shorter;  and  this  improvement  must  be  a  gen- 
eral one  and  confirmed  against  the  chances  of  the 
market  by  legislation.  But,  again,  this  change  for 
the  better  can  only  be  realised  by  the  efforts  of  the 
workers  themselves.  '  By  us,  and  not  for  us,'  must 
be  their  motto.  .  .  .  What  these  staunch  miners 
have  been  doing  in  the  face  of  such  tremendous  odds 
other  workmen  can  and  will  do;  and  when  life  is 
easier  and  fuller  of  pleasure  people  will  have  time 
to  look  around  them  and  find  out  what  they  desire 
in  the  matter  of  art,  and  will  also  have  time  to  compass 
their  desires." 

Just  why  Morris  with  his  extreme  independence 
stopped  short  of  Anarchism  is  difficult  to  see  unless 
it  be  attributed  to  an  instinct  for  order  inherited  from 
the  sturdy  stock  to  which  he  belonged.  The  neces- 
sity of  a  public  rule  of  action  was  always,  however, 
quite  clear  to  him.  He  contended  that  you  have 
a  right  to  do  as  you  like  so  long  as  you  do  not 
interfere  with  your  neighbour's  right  to  do  as  he 
likes,  a  contention  which  not  even  a  fairly  conserva- 
tive mind  finds  very  difficult  to  uphold:  he  was  not 
willing  to  admit  the  right  of  an  individual  to  act 
''  unsocially."  Indeed  all  the  charm  of  his  pictures 
of  the  ideal  life  derives  from  the  atmosphere  of 
loving-kindness  and  mutual  helpfulness  with  which 
he  surrounds  them.  The  Golden  Rule  was  always 
in  his  mind  as  he  built  up  in  his  imagination  his 
Paradise  on  earth.     He  possessed  the  optimism  of 


public  Xifc  anb  Socialism.  189 

the  kind-henrted,  the  faith  in  his  fellow  men  that 
made  him  sure  of  their  right  acting  could  they  only 
start  afresh  with  a  field  clear  of  injury  and  abuse. 
He  never  dreamed  in  all  his  dreaming  that  these 
would  again  grow  up  and  destroy  the  beautiful  fabric 
of  his  new  Society,  so  bright  and  unspotted  in  his 
mind.  Of  course  there  would  be  a  social  conscience 
"which,  being  social,  is  common  to  every  man." 
Without  that  there  could  be  no  society;  and  "Man 
without  society  is  not  only  impossible  but  incon- 
ceivable." Thus  he  argued  and  thus  he  believed. 
His  militant  Socialism  had,  while  it  lasted,  a  very 
dangerous  side.  His  Socialist  "principles  "  are  easily 
torn  to  ribbons  by  the  political  economist  in  pos- 
session of  facts  showing  the  increasing  prosperity 
of  the  working  classes  and  their  increasing  interest 
under  existing  conditions  in  the  arts  and  in  educa- 
tion; but  regarding  his  views  merely  as  representing 
one  aspect  of  his  impressive  personality,  it  is  easy 
to  find  them  attractive.  To  quote  what  the  PjU 
Mall  Gazette  said  of  the  Sunday  evenings  at  the 
Hammersmith  Hall,  "  They  are  patches  of  bright  col- 
our in  the  great  drab,  dreary,  dull,  and  dirty  world." 
They  bring  with  them  such  thoughts  as  Arnold  had 
of  the  repose  that  has  tied  "for  ever  the  course  of 
the  river  of  Time."  The  spirit  breathed  through 
them  in  strong  contrast  to  the  spirit  of  many  of  his 
co-workers,  ennobles  all  efforts  toward  true  reform, 
diffuses  the  love  of  humanity  among  a  cold  people, 
and  makes  for  the  innocent  and  exquisite  happiness 


I90  MUUam  riDorris, 

which  our  human  nature  is  so  apt  paradoxically  to 
deny  us.  In  Morris's  world  we  should  all  be  very 
happy  if  we  were  like  Morris.  He  was  not  very 
happy  in  our  world,  yet  perhaps  he  managed  to  get 
out  of  it  as  much  of  the  joy  of  doing  as  it  can  be 
made  to  yield  to  any  one  man.  His  Socialism,  from 
one  point  of  view,  was  certainly  a  tremendous 
failure,  but  no  other  side  of  his  life  visible  to  the 
public  at  large  showed  so  plainly  his  moral  virtues, 
his  generosity,  his  sincerity,  his  power  of  self-sacri- 
fice, his  effort  toward  self-control.  It  was  significant 
that  when,  with  a  last  rally  of  his  forces  to  active 
work  for  the  cause,  he  joined  in  a  concerted  effort 
to  unite  all  Socialists  into  a  single  party,  he  was 
chosen  as  the  best  man  for  the  purpose,  all  the 
societies  having  "a  deep  regard  and  respect  for  him." 
It  is  even  more  significant  that  his  own  employees  in 
his  large  business  also  esteemed  him  highly,  feeling 
the  sincerity  with  which  he  tried  to  make  his  prac- 
tices accord  with  his  theories.  If  his  business  was  a 
successful  one  it  was  not  because  he  tried  to  get  from 
his  workmen  the  utmost  he  could  claim  in  time  and 
labour.  The  eight-hour  working-day  was  in  prac- 
tice in  the  Merton  factory,  and  the  wages  paid  were 
the  highest  known  in  the  trade.  He  was  free  from 
the  self-complacency  that  gives  to  justice  the  name 
of  charity,  and  he  was  not  distinguished  for  civility 
toward  the  people  under  his  direction,  but  he  was, 
they  said  in  their  emphatic  and  expressive  vernacular, 
*'  the  sort  of  bloke  you  always  could  depend  upon." 


Ipublic  Xlfe  an^  Socialism.  191 

Toward  the  end  of  his  activity  for  tlie  cause 
of  Socialism  he  became  connected  with  a  society 
which  perhaps  would  not  have  existed  without 
his  influence,  although  he  was  not  directly  responsi- 
ble for  its  formation.  This  was  the  Arts  and  Crafts 
Exhibition  Society  [founded  in  1888],  the  aims  of 
which  were  described  by  one  of  its  members  in  the 
following  words:  "  To  assert  the  possibilities  of  Art 
in  design,  applied  even  to  the  least  pretentious  pur- 
pose and  in  every  kind  of  handicraft;  to  protest 
against  the  absolute  subjection  of  Art  in  its  applied 
form  to  the  interests  of  that  extravagant  waste  of 
human  energy  which  is  called  economic  produc- 
tion; to  claim  for  the  artist  or  handicraftsman,  whose 
identity  it  has  been  the  rule  to  hide  and  whose  ar- 
tistic impulse  it  has  been  the  custom  to  curb  (until 
he  was  really  in  danger  of  becoming,  in  fact  as  in 
name,  a  mere  hand),  some  recognition  and  some 
measure  of  appreciation;  to  try  and  discover  whether 
the  public  cared  at  all,  or  could  be  brought  to  care, 
for  the  Art  which,  good  or  bad,  is  continually  under 
their  eyes;  and  whether  there  might  not  be,  in 
association  with  manufiicture,  or  apart  from  it,  if 
that  were  out  of  the  question,  some  scope  for  handi- 
craft, some  hope  for  Art." 

Morris's  point  of  view  is  apparent  in  these  aims, 
and  the  society  was  composed  chiefly  of  young 
men  who,  says  Mr.  Mackail,  "without  following 
his  principles  to  their  logical  issues  or  joining  any 
Socialist  organisation,  were   profoundly  permeated 


192  Milliam  riDorrls, 

with  his  ideas  on  their  most  fruitful  side, — that  of  the 
regeneration,  by  continued  and  combined  individual 
effort,  of  the  decaying  arts  of  life."  The  Art  Work- 
ers' Guild,  dating  from  1884,  was  the  source  from 
which  the  new  society  sprang,  the  immediate  pur- 
pose of  the  latter  being  to  get  the  work  of  men 
who  combined  art  with  handicraft  before  the  pub- 
lic by  means  of  exhibitions,  the  committees  of  the 
Royal  Academy  and  kindred  associations  refusing 
to  accept  examples  of  applied  art  for  the  exhibitions 
which  they  devoted  to  what  they  called  'Tine  art 
proper."  Mr.  Mackail  calls  attention  to  the  fact 
that  Morris  at  this  stage  of  his  life  was  so  thoroughly 
imbued  with  the  idea  that  the  general  public  were 
ignorant  of  and  indifferent  to  decorative  art,  as  to 
feel  more  sceptical  of  the  success  of  the  exhibitions 
than  was  justified  by  their  outcome.  He  lent  his 
aid,  however,  with  his  customary  energy,  guaran- 
teeing a  considerable  sum  of  money,  and  contributing 
some  valuable  papers  and  lectures,  the  exhibitions 
being  combined  with  instruction  by  acknowledged 
masters  of  handicraft.  In  1891  he  was  elected  Pre- 
sident of  the  Society,  holding  that  office  until  the 
time  of  his  death,  when  he  was  succeeded  by  Walter 
Crane.  He  was  a  member  of  the  Art  Workers' 
Guild  as  well,  and  was  elected  Master  of  the  Guild 
in  1892.  He  also  belonged  to  the  Bibliographical 
Society  formed  in  that  year,  and  in  1894  was  elected 
a  Fellow  of  the  Society  of  Antiquaries  of  London. 
The  societies  were  all  directly  concerned  with  ques- 


public  Xifc  ant)  Socialism.  193 

tions  in  which  Morris  had  all  his  life  been  interested, 
and  his  connection  with  them  was  not  only  natural 
but  almost  inevitable.  He  was  not  a  man  to  whom 
public  business  made  a  strong  appeal.  He  under- 
took it  with  reluctance  and  relinquished  it  with 
delight.  Nor  did  he  care  for  the  labels  of  distinction 
for  which  most  men,  even  among  the  greatly  dis- 
tinguished, have  a  measure  of  regard.  He  was,  how- 
ever, gratified  when,  in  1882,  he  was  unanimously 
elected  Honorary  Fellow  of  Exeter  College  at  Oxford, 
an  honour  which  is  rarely  conferred,  and  is  generally 
reserved,  says  Mr.  Mackail,  ''for  old  members  who 
have  attained  the    highest    official    rank    in    their 

profession." 
13 


CHAPTER  IX. 
LITERATURE  OF  THE  SOCIALIST  PERIOD. 


DESPITE  the  large  amount  of  time  and  com- 
paratively unproductive  thought  given  by 
Morris  to  his  Socialism,  the  period  of  his 
greatest  activity  in  this  direction  was  not  without 
result  in  the  field  of  pure  literature.  The  years 
from  1884  to  i8qo  were  crowded  with  pamphlets, 
leaflets,  newspaper  articles,  manifestoes,  and  treatises, 
all  with  the  one  object  —  the  making  of  Socialists. 
Many  of  these  were  more  or  less  works  of  art  — 
but  of  art  in  fetters;  in  the  main  they  bore  sad 
witness  to  the  havoc  made  in  the  esthetic  life  of 
their  author  by  his  propagandising  policy,  and  in 
their  deadly  dulness  betrayed  the  unwillingness  of 
his  mind  to  labour  in  a  field  so  foreign  to  it.  Not 
even  the  overwhelming  tasks  imposed  upon  him 
sufficed,  however,  to  subdue  entirely  his  restless 
imagination.  From  time  to  time  in  the  arid  desert 
of  his  writings  for  "the  cause"  a  poem  of  romance 
appeared  of  a  quality  to  show  that  the  sap  still  ran 
in  the  products  of  his  mind.     Between  the  first  issue 


194 


Xitcraturc  of  the  Socialist  period,       195 

of  The  Commonweal  and  the  inauguration  of  the 
Kelmscott  Press  he  wrote  in  the  following  order: 
The  Pilgrims  of  Hope,  A  Dream  of  John  Ball,  The 
House  of  the  IVolfings,  The  Roots  of  the  Mountains, 
and  News  from  Nowhere. 

Each  is  interesting  as  throwing  a  varied  yet 
steady  light  upon  his  mental  processes,  and  the 
first  is  especially  interesting  despite  its  conspicuous 
defects,  as  one  of  the  very  few  examples  of  its 
author's  style  when  treating  a  subject  belonging  to 
the  actual  present,  not  to  the  past  or  future.  In  it 
the  reader  leaves  dreamland  and  is  confronted  by 
modern  problems  and  situations  set  forth  in  plain 
modern  English.  A  garden  is  no  longer  a  garth,  a 
dwelling-place  is  no  longer  a  stead,  the  writer  no 
longer  wots  and  meseems.  So  violent  a  change  in 
vocabulary  could  hardly  be  accomplished  with  en- 
tire success;  at  all  events  it  was  not,  and  much  of 
the  phraseology  is  an  affliction  to  the  ear,  showing 
a  peculiarly  deficient  taste  in  the  use  of  a  style  un- 
inspired by  mediaeval  tradition.  Yet,  withal,  The 
Pilgrims  of  Hope  is  touched  with  life,  as  many  of 
Morris's  more  artful  compositions  are  not.  The  old 
bottles  will  not  always  serve  for  the  new  wine, 
Lowell  warns  us,  and  there  is  a  noticeably  quicken- 
ing element  in  this  wine  poured  from  the  bottle  of 
the  day.  It  is  mentioned  in  Mr.  Mackaifs  biography 
that  Morris  once  began  to  write  a  modern  novel,  but 
left  it  unfinished.  The  fabric  of  The  Pilgrims  of 
Hope  is  that  of  a  modern  novel,  and  the  characters 


196  MUliam  flDorrie. 

and  incidents  are  such  as  Morris  might  easily  have 
found  in  his  daily  path.  A  country  couple  leading  a 
life  of  peaceful  simplicity  go  down  to  London,  and 
among  the  sordid  influences  of  the  town  become 
converts  to  Socialism.  Much  that  follows  may  be 
considered  a  record  of  Morris's  personal  experience. 
The  husband  in  the  poem  tries,  as  Morris  tried,  to 
learn  the  grounds  of  the  Socialist  faith,  and  takes 
up,  as  he  did,  the  burden  of  spreading  it  among  an 
indifferent  people.  The  following  description  might 
very  well  have  been  culled  from  the  diary  kept  by 
Morris  during  a  part  of  his  period  of  militant  Social- 
ism, but  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  balance  of 
poetic  charm  is  all  in  favour  of  the  account  in  the  diary. 

I  read  day  after  day 
Whatever  books  1  could  handle,  and  heard  about  and  about 
What  talk  was  going  amongst  them  ;  and  1  burned  up  doubt 

after  doubt, 
Until  it  befell  at  last  that  to  others  I  needs  must  speak 
(Indeed,  they  pressed  me  to  that  while  yet  1  was  weaker  than 

weak). 
So  I  began  the  business,  and  in  street-corners  I  spake 
To  knots  of  men.     Indeed,  that  made  my  very  heart  ache, 
So  hopeless  it  seemed,  for  some  stood  by  like  men  of  wood. 
And  some,  though  fain  to  listen,  but  a  few  words  understood; 
And   some   but  hooted  and  jeered:   but  whiles  across  some  I 

came 
Who  were  keen  and  eager  to  hear;  as  in  dry  flax  the  flame 
So  the  quick  thought  flickered  amongst  them:  and  that  indeed 

was  a  feast. 
So   about   the    streets    I    went,   and    the   work    on    my  hands 

increased; 
And  to  say  the  very  truth,  betwixt  the  smooth  and  the  rough 
It  was  work,  and  hope  went  with  it,  and  I  liked  it  well  enough. 


Xltcraturc  of  tbc  Socialist  ipcrio^      197 

A  similar  passage,  also  showing  the  style  at  its 
worst,  renders  the  actual  scene  encountered  by 
Morris  at  many  a  lecture,  and  contains  a  careful 
portrait  of  himself  as  he  appeared  in  his  own  eyes 
on  such  occasions.  For  the  sake  of  its  accuracy  its 
touch  of  self-consciousness  may  well  be  forgiven. 
Not  a  conceited  man,  and  curiously  averse  to  mir- 
rors, Morris  was  not  in  the  habit  of  using  their 
psychological  counterparts,  and  it  is  impossible  to 
surprise  him  in  the  act  of  posing  to  himself  in 
becoming  attitudes.  There  is,  therefore,  no  irrita- 
tion to  the  mind  in  his  occasional  frank  assumption 
of  interest  in  himself  as  a  feature  of  the  landscape, 
so  to  speak.  Here  he  is  on  the  Socialist  platform 
as  the  Pilgrim  of  Hope  beholds  him,  the  Pilgrim 
explaining  how  it  happened  that  he  got  upon  his 
track. 

This  is  how  it  befell:  a  workman  of  mine  had  heard 

Some  bitter  speech  in  my  mouth,  and  he  took  me  up  at  the 

word, 
And  said:    "Come  over  to-morrow  to  our   Radical   spouting- 

place; 
For  there,  if  we  hear  nothing  new,  at  least  we  shall  see  a  new 

face; 
He  is  one  of  those  Communist  chaps,  and  't  is  like  that  you  two 

may  agree." 
So  we  went,  and  the  street  was  as  dull  and  as  common  as  nught 

you  could  see. 
Dull  and  dirty  the  room.     Just  over  the  cha-rman's  chair 
Was  a  bust,  a  Quaker's  face  with  nose  cocked  up  in  the  air. 
There  were  common  prints  on  the  walls  of  the  heads  of  the 

party  fray. 
And  Mazzini  dark  and  lean  amidst  them  gone  astray. 


198  Milliam  flDorris. 

Some  thirty  men  we  were  of  the  kind  that  I  knew  full  well, 
Listless,  rubbed  down  to  the  type  of  our  easy-going  hell. 
My  heart  sank  down  as  I  entered,  and  wearily  there  1  sat 
While  the  chairman  strove  to  end  his  maunder  of  this  and  that. 


And  partly  shy  he  seemed,  and  partly  indeed  ashamed 
Of  the  grizzled  man  beside  him  as  his  name  to  us  he  named; 
He  rose,  thickset  and  short,  and  dressed  in  shabby  blue. 
And  even  as  he  began  it  seemed  as  though  I  knew 
The  thing  he  was  going  to  say,  though  1  never  heard  it  before. 
He  spoke,  were  it  well,  were  it  ill,  as  though  a  message  he  bore. 
A  word  that  he  could  not  refrain  from  many  a  million  of  men. 
Nor  aught  seemed  the  sordid  room  and  the  few  that  were  listen- 
ing then 
Save  the  hall  of  the  labouring  earth  and  the  world  which  was 

to  be, 
Bitter  to  many  the  message,  but  sweet  indeed  unto  me. 
And  every  soul  rejoicing  in  the  sweet  and  bitter  of  life: 
Of  peace  and  good-will  he  told,  and  1  knew  that  in  faith  he 

spake. 
But  his  words  were  my  very  thoughts,  and  I  saw  the  battle 

awake, 
And  I  followed  from  end  to  end!   and  triumph  grew  in   my 

heart 
As  he  called  on  each  that  heard  him  to  arise  and  play  his  part 
In  the  tale  of  the  new-told  gospel,  lest  as  slaves  they  should 
live  and  die. 


He  ceased,  and  I  thought  the  hearers  would  rise  up  with  one 

cry. 
And  bid  him  straight  enroll  them;   but  they,  they  applauded 

indeed. 
For  the  man  was  grown  full  eager,  and  had  made  them  hearken 

and  heed. 
But  they  sat  and  made  no  sign,  and  two  of  the  glibber  kind 
Stood  up  to  jeer  and  to  carp  his  fiery  words  to  blind. 

1  did  not  listen  to  them,  but  failed  not  his  voice  to  hear 


Xitcraturc  of  tbc  Socialist  iperio^       199 

When  he  rose  to  answer  the  carpers,   striving  to  make  more 

clear 
That  which  was  clear  already;  not  overwell,  1  knew 
He  answered  the  sneers  and  the  silence,  so  hot  and  eager  he 

grew ; 
But  my  hope  full  well  he  answered,  and  when  he  called  again 
On  men  to  band  together  lest  they  live  and  die  in  vain. 
In  fear  lest  he  should  escape  me,  I  rose  ere  the  meeting  was 

done, 
And  gave  him  my  name  and  my  faith  —  and  I  was  the  only  one. 
He  smiled  as  he  heard  the  jeers,  and  there  was  a  shake  of  the 

hand, 
He  spoke  like  a  friend  long  known;  and  lo!  I  was  one  oi  the 

band. 


There  is  nothing  impressive  in  such  rhyming 
save  its  message,  the  form  costing  little  trouble  and 
awakening  little  interest.  Here,  obviously,  Morris, 
like  Dante,  would  rather  his  readers  should  find  his 
doctrine  sweet  than  his  verses.  Parts  of  the  poem 
are,  however,  upon  a  much  higher  plane  of  accom- 
plishment. The  first  section,  called  The  Messjge  of 
the  March  IVind,  contains  exquisite  images  and 
moves  to  a  fresh  elastic  measure;  a  world  both  real 
and  lovely  being  evoked  by  the  opening  stanzas: 

Fair  now  is  the  springtide,  now  earth  lies  beholding 
With  the  eyes  of  a  lover  the  face  of  the  sun; 

Long  lasteth  the  daylight,  and  hope  is  enfolding 
The  green-growing  acres  with  increase  begun. 

Now  sweet,  sweet  it  is  through  the  land  to  be  straying 

'Mid  the  birds  and  the  blossoms  and  the  beasts  of  the  fields; 

Love  mingles  with  love  and  no  evil  is  weighing 
On  thy  heart  or  mine,  where  all  sorrow  is  healed. 


200  MilUam  riDorrie. 

From  township  to  township,  o'er  down  and  by  tillage 
Fair,  far  have  we  wandered  and  long  was  the  day, 

But  now  Cometh  eve  at  the  end  of  the  village, 
Where  o'er  the  grey  wall  the  church  riseth  grey. 

There  is  wind  in  the  twilight;  in  the  white  road  before  us 
The  straw  from  the  ox-yard  is  blowing  about; 

The  moon's  rim  is  rising,  a  star  glitters  o'er  us, 

And  the  vane  on  the  spire-top  is  swinging  in  doubt. 

Down  there  dips  the  highway,  toward  the  bridge  crossing  over 
The  brook  that  runs  on  to  the  Thames  and  the  sea. 

Draw  closer,  my  sweet,  we  are  lover  and  lover; 
This  eve  art  thou  given  to  gladness  and  me. 


In  the  course  of  the  poem  the  Pilgrims  are  called 
to  Paris  by  the  voice  of  the  Revolution,  and  there 
the  wife  is  killed.  Interwoven  with  the  main  incid- 
ents is  the  domestic  tragedy  most  familiar  to  fiction, 
the  alienation  of  the  wife's  affections  by  one  of  the 
husband's  friends.  Morris  in  his  treatment  of  this 
situation  shows  a  peculiarly  fine  and  tender  quality, 
sufficiently  rare  in  life  itself  and  seldom  to  be  found 
in  pictures  of  life.  He  preserves  the  dignity  of  his 
unhappy  characters  by  a  delicate  sincerity  in  their 
attitude  toward  one  another  and  by  an  immeasurable 
gentleness  and  self-forgetfulness  on  the  part  of  the 
one  most  wronged.  A  similar  situation  in  News 
from  Nowhere  is  made  trivial  and  consequently  re- 
volting by  the  impression  it  gives  that  it  was  created 
to  illustrate  a  theory.  In  no  place  does  The  Pilgrims 
of  Hope  give  such  an  impression.  It  is  a  drawing 
from  life,  clumsy  and  summary  enough  in  outline, 


i\;\\\oS 


\\\s>,/.o^  tS 


Portrait  of  Mrs.  Morris 

Bv  Rossetti 


Xlterature  of  tbc  Socialist  ipcrio^      201 

yet  firm  and  expressive  of  the  thing  seen,  and  with 
power  to  convey  a  genuine  emotion. 

The  Pilgrims  of  Hope  appeared  serially  in  The 
Commonweal  during  1885- 1886.  It  was  soon  fol- 
lowed by  a  romance  called  The  Dream  of  John  Ball. 
This  subject  with  its  mediieval  setting  suited  Mor- 
ris well,  and  was  treated  by  him  in  his  ripest  and 
strongest  vein.  Although  the  story  opens  in  a 
lightly  facetious  manner,  never  a  particularly  happy 
one  with  him,  its  tone  as  it  proceeds  is  that  of  sub- 
dued and  stately  pathos.  The  writer  dreams  himself 
in  a  village  of  Kent,  where  men  are  hanging  upon 
the  words  of  that  poor  tutor  of  Oxford,  the  "  Mad 
Priest,"  preaching  the  equality  of  gentle  and  villein 
on  the  text 

When  Adam  dalf,  and  Eve  span 
Who  was  thanne  a  gentilman  ? 

Apparently  the  dream  is  the  result  of  a  mournfully 
retrospective  mood.  The  dreamer  hears  the  plain 
and  stirring  speech  of  John  Ball,  listens  to  his  eager 
appeal  to  the  men  of  Kent  that  they  help  their  breth- 
ren of  Essex  cast  off  the  yoke  placed  upon  them  by 
bailiff  and  lord,  and  to  his  prophecies  that  in  the 
days  to  come,  when  they  are  free  from  masters, 
"  man  shall  help  man,  and  the  saints  in  heaven  shall  be 
glad,  because  men  no  more  fear  each  other  .  .  .  and 
fellowship  shall  be  established  in  heaven  and  on  the 
earth."  But  knowledge  of  the  later  time  penetrates 
the  dream,  and  the  dreamer  ponders  ''  how  men  fight 


202  Milliam  HDorris. 

and  lose  the  battle,  and  the  thing  that  they  fought 
for  comes  about  in  spite  of  their  defeat,  and  when  it 
comes  it  turns  out  not  to  be  what  they  meant,  and 
other  men  have  to  fight  for  what  they  meant  under 
another  name."  At  this  time  Morris  was  realising  in 
some  bitterness  of  heart  that  the  thing  for  which  he 
had  fought  was  turning  out  to  be  not  what  he 
had  meant,  and  the  talk  between  John  Ball  and  the 
dreamer  concerning  the  future,  of  which  the  latter 
can  reveal  the  secret,  is  eloquent  of  sober  and  noble 
resignation.  The  reformer  of  the  earlier  age  receives 
with  serenity  the  assurance  that  his  sacrifice  will 
count  only  as  failure  in  the  eyes  of  the  coming  gener- 
ations, since  with  it  goes  the  further  assurance  that 
men  will  continue  to  seek  a  remedy  for  their  wrongs. 
But  we  read  in  the  conception  the  author's  forebod- 
ing that  his  own  efforts  toward  the  reconstitution  of 
society  are  also  doomed.  The  dreamer  meditates, 
with  an  insight  born  of  personal  experience  and  dis- 
appointment, upon  the  darkness  of  our  vision  and  the 
difficulty  of  directing  our  steps  toward  our  actual 
goal.  Morris  obviously  traced  in  John  Ball's  action 
a  parallel  to  his  own.  What  happened  to  the  one 
was  what  might  happen  to  the  other.  The  hope 
that  inspired  the  one  was  the  same  as  inspired  the 
other.  The  mistakes  of  the  one  were  akin  to  the 
mistakes  of  the  other.  Thus,  this  prose  romance,  of 
all  that  Morris  wrote,  is  warmest  and  most  personal. 
The  historical  setting  is  an  aid,  not  an  obstacle,  to 
the  imagination.     The  pathos  of  the  real  life  touched 


Xltcrature  of  tbc  Socialist  ipcrioD.      20 


o 


upon,  the  knowledge  that  the  hopeful  spirit  of  the 
preacher  was  once  alive  in  the  land,  and  that  the 
response  of  the  men  of  Kent  was  given  in  truth  and 
with  the  might  of  angry,  living  hearts,  lends  a  certain 
solidity  and  vitality  to  the  figures  and  inspires  Morris 
to  a  sturdier  treatment  of  his  material  than  legends 
could  force  from  him.  Had  some  of  the  marvellous 
activity  that  later  went  toward  the  making  of  purely 
imaginary  situations  and  characters  been  spent  upon 
realising  for  us  the  individual  lives  of  more  of  the 
mediiEval  workers  and  thinkers,  so  vivid  to  Morris 
and  so  dim  to  most  of  us,  the  result  might  not  have 
been  history,  but  it  would  have  been  literature  of  a 
rare  and  felicitous  type. 

In  April,  1888,  The  Dream  of  John  Ball  was 
reprinted  from  The  Commonweal  in  one  volume,  to- 
gether with  a  short  story  based  on  the  life  of  Mat- 
thias Corvinus,  King  of  Hungary,  and  called  A  Kings 
Lesson.  This  also  had  appeared  in  The  Commonweal 
under  the  title  of  "An  Old  Story  Retold." 

Hard  upon  this  little  volume  followed  The  House 
of  the  IVolfings,  a  war-story  of  the  early  Middle  Ages, 
and  significant  as  forming,  with  its  immediate  suc- 
cessor, a  link  between  old  interests  and  new,  mark- 
ing its  author's  return  to  the  writing  of  pure  romance, 
and  also  his  first  awakening  to  an  active  interest  in 
the  typography  of  his  books.  The  subject  is  derived 
from  the  ancient  literature,  half  myth,  half  history,  in 
which  he  had  long  been  steeped,  but  in  its  treatment 
lurks  a  su^sfestion  of  the  great  moral  excitement 


'&&' 


204  IKIlilUam  fIDorrie* 

of  the  Socialist  campaign.  Thiodulf,  the  hero,  be- 
loved by  a  goddess,  is  the  war- duke  of  a  Gothic 
host  and,  on  the  verge  of  battle  with  Roman  legion- 
aries, is  deceived  into  wearing  a  hauberk  wrought 
by  the  dwarfs,  the  peculiar  quality  of  which  lies  in 
its  power  to  preserve  the  wearer's  life  at  the  cost  of 
defeat  for  his  army.  Learning  of  this,  Thiodulf  re- 
moves the  magic  armour  in  time  to  gain  his  victory, 
but  in  the  moment  of  triumph  he  is  killed.  His  ex- 
altation of  mood  in  thus  renouncing  life  suggests  a 
spiritual  ambition  different  from  that  commonly  as- 
sociated with  the  gods  and  heroes  of  the  early  world, 
and  conveys  the  message  by  which  Morris  was  at 
once  burdened  and  inspired:  that  individual  life  may 
cheerfully  be  sacrificed  if  the  life  of  the  many  is  saved 
or  elevated  thereby.  How  far  a  war-duke  of  the 
Goths  would  have  felt  the  compensatory  sense  that 
he  was  gaining  immortality  through  the  effect  of  his 
deeds  on  the  destiny  of  his  people  was  probably  not 
in  his  mind.  He  himself,  despite  his  constitutional 
horror  of  death,  would  perhaps  not  have  been  sorry 
at  this  time  to  lay  off  his  hauberk  if  he  could  have 
been  certain  of  the  victory.  Throughout  the  history 
of  Thiodulf  runs  an  elevated  ethical  intention  absent 
from  Morris's  later  romances.  The  dignity  and  seri- 
ousness of  the  women,  the  nobility  of  the  men,  the 
social  unity  of  the  Marksmen,  and  the  high  standard 
of  thought  and  action  maintained  by  them  as  a  com- 
munity place  the  interest  on  a  high  plane.  The 
shadow  of  an  idealised  Socialism  intensifies  the  rela- 


Xiterarure  of  tbc  Socialist  ipciiob.       205 

tions  of  the  characters  to  one  another,  and  the  reader 
familiar  with  the  course  of  the  author's  life  interprets 
the  narrative  as  an  expression  of  personal  feeling  and 
moral  conviction  not  wihout  pathos  in  its  contrast 
to  the  actual  world  in  which  Morris  was  moving  and 
in  which  he  found  what  he  conceived  to  be  his  duty 
so  repugnant  to  his  tastes. 

Indirectly  the  book  was  to  open  the  way  for  his 
escape  by  filling  his  mind  with  an  enthusiasm  along 
the  natural  line  of  his  gifts,  a  zest  for  further  accom- 
plishment in  the  field  he  loved  that  was  not  to  be 
withstood.  It  was  printed  at  the  Chiswick  Press, 
and  owing  to  a  new  interest  in  fine  printing  due  to 
his  intercourse  with  Mr.  Emery  Walker,  Morris  chose 
for  it  a  quaint  and  little-known  fount  of  type  cut  by 
Howard  half  a  century  before,  and  gave  much  atten- 
tion to  the  details  of  its  appearance.  With  all  his 
familiarity  with  medieval  books,  and  his  delight  in 
illustration  and  illumination,  he  was  still  ignorant  of 
the  art  of  spacing  and  type  designing.  He  had  char- 
acteristically concentrated  his  attention  on  the  special 
feature  in  which  he  was  interested, —  in  the  case  of 
the  old  books,  the  woodcuts  and  ornaments,— and 
had  passed  over  even  the  most  marked  character- 
istics which  later  were  to  absorb  his  whole  attention. 
An  anecdote  told  by  Mr.  Buxton  Forman  shows  the 
extent  to  which  he  subordinated  all  other  questions 
to  the  now  supreme  problem  of  a  handsome  page, 
and  also  the  adaptability  of  his  mind,  never  at  a  loss 
to  meet  an  emergency.     Mr.  Forman  had  run  across 


2o6  Milllam  riDorm, 

him  at  the  Chiswick  Press,  whither  he  had  repaired 
to  settle  some  final  points  concerning  his  title-page. 
Presently  down  came  the  proof  of  the  page.  'Mt 
did  not  read  quite  as  now,"  says  Mr.  Forman;  ''the 
difference,  I  think,  was  in  the  fourth  and  fifth  lines 
where  the  words  stood  '  written  in  prose  and  verse 
by  William  Morris.'  Now  unhappily  the  words  and 
the  type  did  not  so  accord  as  to  come  up  to  Morris's 
standard  of  decorativeness.  The  line  wanted  tight- 
ening up;  there  was  a  three-cornered  consultation 
between  the  Author,  the  Manager,  and  myself.  The 
word  in  was  to  be  inserted  — '  written  in  prose  and 
in  verse'  —  to  gain  the  necessary  fulness  of  line.  I 
mildly  protested  that  the  former  reading  was  the 
better  sense  and  that  it  should  not  be  sacrificed  to 
avoid  a  slight  excess  of  white  that  no  one  would 
notice.  '  Ha! '  said  Morris,  'now  what  would  you 
say  if  I  told  you  that  the  verses  on  the  title-page 
were  written  just  to  fill  up  the  great  white  lower 
half?  Well,  that  was  what  happened!'"  The 
verses  thus  produced  to  fill  a  purely  decorative  need 
were  the  following,  as  delicate  and  filled  with  tender 
sentiment  as  any  written  by  Morris  under  the  most 
genuine  inspiration  —  if  one  may  assume  that  any 
inspiration  was  more  genuine  with  him  than  the  spur 
of  a  problem  in  decoration: 

Whiles  in  the  early  winter  eve 
We  pass  amid  the  gathering  night 
Some  homestead  that  we  had  to  leave 
Years  past;  and  see  its  candles  bright 


Xltcraturc  of  the  Socialist  ipcrio^.      207 

Shine  in  the  room  beside  the  door 
Where  we  were  merry  years  agone 
But  now  must  never  enter  more, 
As  still  the  dark  road  drives  us  on. 
E'en  so  the  world  of  men  may  turn 
At  even  of  some  hurried  day 
And  see  the  ancient  glimmer  burn 
Across  the  waste  that  hath  no  way; 
Then  with  that  faint  light  in  its  eyes 
Awhile  I  bid  it  linger  near 
And  nurse  in  wavering  memories 
The  bitter-sweet  of  days  that  were. 

In  glee  over  the  fine  appearance  of  The  House  of 
the  IVolfings  as  it  came  from  the  press,  Morris  passed 
on  to  his  next  book,  The  Roots  of  the  Mountains,  also 
a  romance  suggesting  the  saga  literature,  but  without 
the  mythological  element.  The  setting  hints  at  his- 
tory without  belonging  to  any  especial  time  or  place. 
The  plan  is  quite  complicated  in  incident,  and  the 
love-story  involved  has  a  modern  tinge.  Gold-mane, 
a  chieftain  of  Burgdale,  is  betrothed  to  a  damsel 
somewhat  prematurely  named  the  Bride.  By  a  magic 
spell  he  is  drawn  through  the  woods  to  the  Shadowy 
Vale  where  he  meets  a  daughter  of  the  Kindred  of 
the  Wolf,  called  Sunbeam,  with  whom  he  falls  in 
love,  it  is  a  touch  characteristic  of  Morris  that  makes 
Gold-mane  in  describing  his  old  love  to  the  new 
loyally  give  the  former  all  the  credit  of  her  charm. 
*'  Each  day  shegroweth  fairer,"  he  says  to  the  maiden 
who  is  already  her  rival  in  his  affections;  ''there  is  no 
man's  son  and  no  daughter  of  woman  that  does  not 
love  her ;  yea,  the  very  beasts  of  field  and  fold  love 


2o8  TOmtam  riDorne. 

her."  Presently  an  alliance  is  formed  between  the 
men  of  Burgdale  and  the  Kindred  of  the  Wolf  for  the 
purpose  of  attacking  their  common  enemy,  the  Dusky 
Men,  who  belong  to  a  race  of  Huns.  Attached  to 
the  allied  forces  is  a  band  of  Amazons,  and  the  two 
brave  ladies,  the  Sunbeam  and  the  Bride,  show  them- 
selves valorous  in  battle.  The  attack  on  the  Dusky 
Men  is  victorious,  and  peace  returns  to  the  valleys. 
In  the  meantime  Gold-mane  has  firmly,  though  with 
gentle  words,  told  the  Bride  of  his  intention  of  break- 
ing his  pledge  to  her,  and  the  Sunbeam's  brother, 
Folkmight,  has  been  moved  by  compassion  and  finally 
by  love  for  the  deserted  maiden,  who  consents  to  be 
his  wife.  It  is  quite  in  accord  with  the  ideal  estab- 
lished by  Morris  in  his  works  of  fiction,  as  indeed  in 
his  life,  that  sincerity  takes  the  leading  place  among 
the  virtues  of  his  characters.  It  requires  a  certain 
defiance  of  the  conventional  modern  mood  to  tolerate 
Gold-mane,  the  deserter,  as  he  deals  out  cold  comfort 
to  the  Bride,  yet  the  downright  frankness  of  all  these 
people  is  a  quality  so  native  to  their  author  as  to 
pierce  their  unreality  and  give  them  the  touch  of  na- 
ture without  which  they  would  be  made  wholly  of 
dreams. 

The  Roots  of  the  Mountains  was  written  rapidly 
and  issued  with  unrelaxed  attention  to  typographical 
problems.  Its  title-page  was  made  even  more  satis- 
factory than  that  of  its  predecessor,  and  the  device 
of  introducing  a  little  poem  to  fill  up  the  ugly  white 
space  in  the  centre  was  again  employed.    The  lines 


Xltcrature  of  tbc  Socialist  iperlob.      209 

in  this  case  have  nothin.i(  to  do  with  the  contents  of 
the  book,  though  forced  into  a  relation  with  the 
author's  purpose  of  providing  "rest"  for  the  reader. 
They  were,  in  fact,  founded  upon  an  incident  of  a 
railway  trip  when  the  train  passed  through  meadows 
in  which  hay-making  was  going  on.  Mr.  Emery 
Walker  was  with  Morris,  and  as  they  saw  the  hay- 
cocks defrauded  by  the  summer  breeze  he  exclaimed, 
' '  A  subject  for  your  title-page  ! "  "  Aye,  "said  Morris, 
and  jotted  it  down  in  his  manuscript  book. 

The  Roots  of  the  Moii  11  tains  was  a  fLivourite  with 
Morris,  and  he  planned  for  it  an  edition  on  Whatman 
paper  and  bound  in  two  patterns  of  Morris  and  Com- 
pany's chintz.  Some  of  the  paper  ordered  for  this 
edition  was  left  over,  and  eventually  was  used  by 
Morris  for  the  first  little  post-quarto  catalogues  and 
prospectuses  printed  at  Hammersmith.  Thus  the 
book  formed  a  material  link  between  the  Chiswick 
Press  and  the  Kelmscott  Press. 

Before  the  establishment  of  the  latter,  however, 
Morris  gave  one  more  book  to  Socialism.  His  News 
from  Nowhere  was  the  last  of  his  works  to  appear  in 
The  Commonweal  and  was  almost  immediately  re- 
printed from  its  pages  by  an  American  publisher. 
It  is  an  account  of  the  civilised  world  as  it  might  be 
made,  according  to  Morris's  belief,  by  the  application 
of  his  principles  of  Socialism  to  life  in  general  and  in 
particular.  In  1889  he  had  reviewed  for  The  Com- 
monweal Mr.  Bellamy's  Looking  Backward,  with 
how  much  approbation  may  readily  be  imagined. 


14 


2IO 


XKaiUiam  flDorria 


As  an  expression  of  the  temperament  of  its  author 
he  considered  it  interesting,  but  as  a  reconstructive 
theory  unsafe  and  misleading.  "I  believe,"  he  said, 
**that  the  ideal  of  the  future  does  not  point  to 
the  lessening  of  man's  energy  by  the  reduction  of 
labour  to  a  minimum,  but  rather  to  the  reduction  of 
pain  in  labour  to  a  minimum  so  small  that  it  will 
cease  to  be  pain;  a  gain  to  humanity  which  can 
only  be  dreamed  of  till  men  are  more  completely 
equal  than  Mr.  Bellamy's  Utopia  would  allow  them 
to  be,  but  which  will  most  assuredly  come  about 
when  men  are  really  equal  in  condition;  although 
it  is  probable  that  much  of  our  so-called  '  refine- 
ment,' our  luxury, —  in  short,  our  civilisation, —  will 
have  to  be  sacrificed  to  it."  Early  in  1890  appeared 
the  first  instalment  of  News  from  Nowhere,  in  which 
Morris  set  himself  the  task  of  correcting  the  im- 
pression produced  by  Mr.  Bellamy's  views  of  the 
future  by  substituting  his  own  picture  of  a  recon- 
structed society,  from  which  all  the  machinery  that 
in  Looking  Backward  was  brought  to  so  high  a 
degree  of  efficiency  is  banished,  and  the  natural  en- 
ergies of  man  are  employed  to  his  complete  satis- 
faction. Homer's  Odyssey,  which  Morris  at  this 
time  was  translating  by  way  of  refreshment  and 
amusement,  may  well  have  served  as  a  partial  in- 
spiration for  the  brilliant,  delicate  descriptions  of 
handicrafts  practised  by  the  art-loving  people  of 
Nowhere.  We  read  in  both  of  lovely  embroider- 
ies; of  fine  woven  stuffs,  soft  and  pliant  in  texture, 


Xlterature  of  tbc  Socialist  period      211 

and  deeply  dyed  in  rich  forgotten  colours  of  anti- 
quity; of  the  quaint  elaboration  and  charm  of  metals 
wrought  into  intricate  designs;  of  all  beautiful  orna- 
ment to  be  gained  from  the  zeal  of  skilled  and  sensi- 
tive fingers.  The  image  is  before  us  in  News  from 
Nowhere  of  a  life  as  busy  and  as  bright  as  that  of 
the  ancient  Greeks,  whose  cunning  hands  could  do 
everything  save  divide  use  from  beauty.  As  a  nat- 
ural consequence  of  happy  labour,  the  inhabitants  of 
Nowhere  have  also  the  superb  health  and  personal 
beauty  of  the  Greeks.  Their  women  of  forty  and 
fifty  have  smooth  skins  and  fresh  colour,  bright  eyes 
and  a  free  walk.  Their  men  have  no  knowledge  of 
wrinkles  and  grey  hairs.  Everywhere  is  the  fresh- 
ness and  sparkle  of  the  morning.  The  pleasant 
homes  nestle  in  peaceful  security  among  the  lavish 
fruits  of  the  earth.  The  water  of  the  Thames  flows 
clean  and  clear  between  its  banks;  the  fragrance  of 
flowers  pervades  the  pages  and  suggests  a  perpetual 
summer;  athletic  sports  are  mingled  with  athletic 
occupations.  There  is  little  studying.  History  is  sad 
and  often  shameful— why  then  study  it?  Knowledge 
of  geography  is  not  important;  it  comes  to  those  who 
care  to  travel.  Languages  one  naturally  picks  up 
from  intercourse  with  the  people  of  other  countries. 
Political  economy?  When  one  practises  good  fellow- 
ship what  need  of  theories?  Mathematics?  They 
would  wrinkle  the  brow;  moreover,  one  learns  all  that 
is  necessary  of  them  by  building  houses  and  bridges 
and  putting  things  together  in  the  right  way.     it 


212 


Milliam  fIDorrie. 


is  not  surprising  that  in  this  buoyant  life  filled  with 
active  interests,  the  religion  of  which  is  good-will 
and  mutual  helpfulness,  the  thought  of  death  is  not 
a  welcome  one.  A  dweller  in  Nowhere  admits  that 
in  the  autumn  he  almost  believes  in  death;  but  no 
one  entertains  such  a  belief  longer  than  he  must. 
Thus  we  get  in  this  fair  idyll  the  purely  visible  side 
of  the  society  depicted.  The  depths  of  the  human 
heart  and  of  the  human  soul  are  left  unsounded.  To 
have  what  they  desire,  what  is  claimed  by  their 
hands,  by  their  eyes,  by  their  senses,  is  the  aim  of 
the  people.  Renunciation,  like  mathematics,  would 
wrinkle  the  brow.  Arbitrary  restraint  is  not  to  be 
considered.  Nothing  is  binding,  neither  marriage 
vow  nor  labour  contract,  or,  to  speak  more  pre- 
cisely, neither  marriage  vow  nor  contract  for  labour 
exists.  The  people  live,  as  we  are  told,  as  some  of 
the  so-called  savages  in  the  South  Seas  really  do 
live, —  in  a  state  of  interdependence  so  perfect  that 
if  an  individual  lays  down  an  obligation  the  com- 
munity takes  it  up.  For  the  fading  of  life,  for  the 
death  that  may  not  delay  till  autumn  to  thrust  itself 
upon  the  attention,  for  the  development  of  spiritual 
strength  to  meet  an  enemy  against  whom  art  and 
beauty  will  not  avail,  for  the  battle  with  those  temp- 
tations of  the  flesh  that  are  not  averted  by  health 
and  comeliness,  no  provision  is  made.  The  author's 
philosophy  is  that  work,  under  pleasant  conditions 
will  do  away  with  all  the  evils  of  both  soul  and 
body. 


Xltcrature  of  the  ^^ocialiet  ipcriot).      213 

As  a  document  for  active  Socialists  Nczcs  from 
Nowhere  is  not  effective.  Absolutely  without  any 
basis  of  economic  generalisation,  it  is  merely  the 
fabric  of  a  vision.  At  the  time  of  writing  it  Morris 
was  cutting  the  last  threads  that  bound  him  to  con- 
ventional Socialist  bodies.  He  was  making  ready 
to  live  again,  so  far  as  modernity  would  let  him, 
the  life  he  loved.  ''No  work  that  cannot  be  done 
with  pleasure  in  the  doing  is  worth  doing,"  was  a 
maxim  counted  by  him  of  the  first  importance,  and 
assuredly  he  had  not  found  pleasure  in  the  manage- 
ment of  Socialist  organisations.  His  last  Socialist  book 
rings  with  the  joy  of  his  release.  On  its  title-page 
it  appears  as  Some  Chapters  from  a  Utopijii  Ro- 
mance,  and  it  is  interesting  to  see  how  he  regarded 
the  original  Utopia,  to  Ralph  Robinson's  translation 
of  which  he  wrote  a  preface,  issuing  it  from  his  own 
press  in  1893.  His  interpretation  of  Sir  Thomas 
More's  attitude  is  not  the  conventional  one,  and 
is  inspired  chiefly  by  his  own  attitude  toward  the 
great  social  question  which  he  continued  to  ponder, 
insisting  still  upon  his  hope  for  a  new  earth. 

"  Ralph  Robinson's  translation  ofMore's  Utopia," 
he  says,  "  would  not  need  any  foreword  if  it  were  to 
be  looked  upon  merely  as  a  beautiful  book  embod\-- 
ing  the  curious  fancies  of  a  great  writer  and  thinker 
of  the  period  of  the  Renaissance.  No  doubt  till 
within  the  last  few  years  it  has  been  considered  by 
the  moderns  as  nothing  more  serious  than  a  charm- 
ing literary  exercise,  spiced  with  the  interest  given 


214  MlUiam  flDorri^. 

to  it  by  the  allusions  to  the  history  of  the  time,  and 
by  our  knowledge  of  the  career  of  its  author.  But 
the  change  of  ideas  concerning  '  the  best  state  of  a 
publique  weale,'  which  1  will  venture  to  say  is  the  ' 
great  event  of  the  end  of  this  century,  has  thrown  a 
fresh  light  upon  the  book;  so  that  now  to  some  it 
seems  not  so  much  a  regret  for  days  which  might 
have  been,  as  (in  its  essence)  a  prediction  of  a  state 
of  society  which  will  be.  In  short  this  work  of  the 
scholar  and  Catholic,  of  the  man  who  resisted  what 
has  seemed  to  most  the  progressive  movement  of 
his  own  time,  has  in  our  days  become  a  Socialist 
tract  familiar  to  the  meetings  and  debating  rooms  of 
the  political  party  which  was  but  lately  like  'the 
cloud  as  big  as  a  man's  hand.'  Doubtless  the  Utopia 
is  a  necessary  part  of  a  Socialist's  library;  yet  it 
seems  to  me  that  its  value  as  a  book  for  the  study 
of  sociology  is  rather  historic  than  prophetic,  and 
that  we  Socialists  should  look  upon  it  as  a  link 
between  the  surviving  Communism  of  the  Middle 
Ages  (become  hopeless  in  More's  time,  and  doomed 
to  be  soon  wholly  effaced  by  the  advancing  wave  of 
Commercial  Bureaucracy),  and  the  hopeful  and  prac- 
tical progressive  movement  of  to-day.  In  fact  I 
think  More  must  be  looked  upon  rather  as  the  last 
of  the  old  than  the  first  of  the  new. 

''Apart  from  what  was  yet  alive  in  him  of  me- 
dieval Communist  tradition,  the  spirit  of  associa- 
tion, which  amongst  other  things  produced  the 
Gilds,   and    which   was    strong    in    the    mediaeval 


literature  of  tbe  Socialist  iperio^      21 


D 


Catholic  Church  itself,  other  iiilliiences  were  at 
work  to  make  him  take  up  his  parable  against  the 
new  spirit  of  his  age.  The  action  of  the  period  of 
transition  from  medi:eval  to  commercial  society, 
with  all  its  brutalities,  was  before  his  eyes;  and 
though  he  was  not  alone  in  his  time  in  condemn- 
ing the  injustice  and  cruelty  of  the  revolution  which 
destroyed  the  peasant  life  of  England  and  turned  it 
into  a  grazing  farm  for  the  moneyed  gentry;  creating 
withal  at  one  stroke  the  propertyless  wage-earner 
and  the  masterless  vagrant  (hodie  'pauper'),  yet  he 
saw  deeper  into  its  root-causes  than  many  other 
men  of  his  own  day,  and  left  us  little  to  add  to  his 
views  on  this  point  except  a  reasonable  hope  that 
those  '  causes '  will  yield  to  a  better  form  of  society 
before  long. 

''Moreover  the  spirit  of  the  Renaissance,  itself 
the  intellectual  side  of  the  very  movement  which  he 
strove  against,  was  strong  in  him,  and  doubtless 
helped  to  create  his  Utopia  by  means  of  the  contrast 
which  it  put  before  his  eyes  of  the  ideal  free  nations 
of  the  ancients,  and  the  sordid  welter  of  the  struggle 
for  power  in  the  days  of  dying  feudalism,  of  which  he 
himself  was  a  witness.  This  Renaissance  enthusiasm 
has  supplanted  in  him  the  chivalry  feeling  of  the  age 
just  passing  away.  To  him  war  is  no  longer  a  de- 
light of  the  well-born,  but  rather  an  ugly  necessity 
to  be  carried  on,  if  so  it  must  be,  by  ugly  means. 
Hunting  and  hawking  are  no  longer  the  choice  plea- 
sures of  knight  and  lady,  but  are  jeered  at  by  him  as 


2i6  Milliam  riDorrle, 

foolish  and  unreasonable  pieces  of  butchery  ;  his 
pleasures  are  in  the  main  the  reasonable  ones  of 
learning  and  music.  With  all  this,  his  imaginations 
of  the  past  he  must  needs  read  into  his  ideal  vision, 
together  with  his  own  experiences  of  his  time  and 
people.  Not  only  are  there  bond  slaves  and  a  king, 
and  priests  almost  adored,  and  cruel  punishments 
for  the  breach  of  marriage  contract,  in  that  happy 
island,  but  there  is  throughout  an  atmosphere  of 
asceticism  which  has  a  curiously  blended  savour  of 
Cato  the  Censor  and  a  medii^val  monk. 

"On  the  subject  of  war,  on  capital  punishment, 
the  responsibility  to  the  public  of  kings  and  other 
official  personages,  and  such-like  matters,  More 
speaks  words  that  would  not  be  out  of  place  in  the 
mouth  of  an  eighteenth-century  Jacobin,  and  at  first 
sight  this  seems  rather  to  show  sympathy  with  what 
is  now  mere  Whigism  than  with  Communism;  but 
it  must  be  remembered  that  opinions  which  have 
become  (in  words)  the  mere  commonplace  of  ordi- 
nary bourgeoise  politicians  were  then  looked  on  as 
a  piece  of  startlingly  new  and  advanced  thought,  and 
do  not  put  him  on  the  same  plane  with  the  mere 
radical  life  of  the  last  generation. 

"In  More,  then,  are  met togetherthe  man  naturally 
sympathetic  with  the  Communistic  side  of  mediaeval 
society,  the  protestor  against  the  ugly  brutality  of 
the  earliest  period  of  commercialism,  the  enthusiast 
of  the  Renaissance,  ever  looking  toward  his  idealised 
ancient  society  as  the  type  and  example  of  all  really 


z\\\(\\h  .?/\V. 


\uv/>\C\  "ivA 


\\\\)\'\    WA    WXUJMA     i-\     :l^i\>W\ 


study  of  Mrs.  Morris 

Made  hv  Rossctti  for  pictures  railed  "The  Par  Dream 


kfi^Wili 


Oliterature  ot  the  Socialist  ipcriob.      217 

intelligent  human  life ;  the  man  tinged  with  the 
asceticism  at  once  of  the  classical  philosopher  and 
of  the  monk,  an  asceticism,  indeed,  which  he  puts 
forward  not  so  much  as  a  duty  but  rather  as  a  kind 
of  stern  adornment  of  life.  These  are,  we  may  say, 
the  moods  of  the  man  who  created  Utopia  for  us; 
and  all  are  tempered  and  harmonised  by  a  sensitive 
clearness  and  delicate  beauty  of  style,  which  make 
the  book  a  living  work  of  art. 

''  But  lastly,  we  Socialists  cannot  forget  that  these 
qualities  and  excellences  meet  to  produce  a  steady 
expression  of  the  longing  for  a  society  of  equality  of 
condition;  a  society  in  which  the  individual  man  can 
scarcely  conceive  of  his  existence  apart  from  the  com- 
monwealth of  which  he  forms  a  portion.  This,  which 
is  the  essence  of  his  book,  is  the  essence  also  of  the 
struggle  in  which  we  are  engaged.  Though,  doubt- 
less, it  was  the  pressure  of  circumstances  in  his  own 
days  that  made  More  what  he  was,  yet  that  pressure 
forced  him  to  give  us,  not  a  vision  of  the  triumph  of 
the  new-born  capitalistic  society,  the  element  in 
which  lived  the  new  learning  and  the  freedom  of 
thought  of  his  epoch,  but  a  picture  (his  own  indeed, 
not  ours)  of  the  real  New  Birth  which  many  men  be- 
fore him  had  desired;  and  which  now  indeed  we  may 
well  hope  is  drawing  near  to  realisation,  though  after 
such  a  long  series  of  events  which  at  the  time  of  their 
happening  seemed  to  nullify  his  hopes  completely.*"^ 

'  When  the  Utopia  appeared  with  this  introduction  an   Eton  master  who  had 
ordered  forty  copies  in  advance,  intending  the  books  to  be  used  as  prizes  for  the 


2i8  HXailliam  flDorrie. 

Morris's  own  hope  was  never  completely  nullified; 
nor  was  he  ever  indifferent  to  the  questions  which 
for  nearly  a  decade  had  absorbed  his  energy.  But 
there  was  to  be  little  more  writing  for  the  sake  of 
Socialism,  save  as  some  public  incident  called  out  a 
public  letter.  What  he  had  done  covered  a  wide 
field.  Beside  the  works  already  mentioned  he  had 
collaborated  with  Mr.  E.  Belfort  Bax  in  a  history  of 
the  growth  and  outcome  of  Socialism,  first  published 
in  the  Commonweal  under  the  title  oi  Socialism  from 
the  Root  Up,  had  written  a  series  of  poems  called 
Chants  for  Socialists,  and  a  series  of  lectures  for  "  the 
cause"  later  published  as  Signs  of  Change,  and  had 
produced  numerous  short  addresses  to  be  scattered 
abroad  in  the  form  of  penny  leaflets  that  must  have 
been  typographical  eyesores  to  him  even  before  the 
rise  of  his  enthusiasm  for  typography  of  the  finer 
sort.  In  addition  his  bibliographer  has  to  take  into 
account  any  number  of  ephemeral  contributions  to 
the  press  and  "forewords"  as  he  liked  to  call  them, 
to  the  works  of  others,  a  feature  rarely  present  in  his 
own  books.  In  the  spring  of  1890  he  wrote  the 
romance  entitled,  The  Story  of  the  Glittering  Plain  for 
the  English  Illustrated  Maga:{ine.  When  it  was 
brought  out  in  book  form  the  following  year,  it  was 
printed  at  his  own  press. 

boys  in  his  school,  withdrew  his  order,  Young  England  not  being  allowed  at  that 
time  to  keep  such  Socialistic  company. 


CHAPTER  X. 
THE  KELMSCOTT  PRESS. 


A  LTHOUGH  Morris  turned  with  what  seemed  a 
/\  sudden  inspiration  to  the  study  of  typo- 
1  V  graphy,  it  was,  as  we  have  already  seen,  no 
less  than  his  other  occupations  a  direct  outcome  of 
his  early  tastes.  As  long  before  as  1866  he  had 
planned  a  folio  edition  of  The  Earthly  Paradise  with 
woodcut  illustrations  to  be  designed  by  Burne-Jones, 
and  printed  in  a  more  or  less  medic^val  fashion. 
Burne-Jones  made  a  large  number  of  drawings  for 
the  projected  edition,  and  some  thirty-five  of  those 
intended  for  the  story  of  Cupid  and  Psyche  were  cut 
on  wood  by  Morris  himself.  Specimen  pages  were 
set  up,  but  the  result  was  not  technically  satisfying 
and  the  idea  was  allowed  to  drop.  Later,  as  we  have 
seen,  he  had  in  mind  an  illustrated  and  sumptuous 
edition  of  Love  is  Enough,  which  also  came  to  nothing, 
although  a  number  of  marginal  decorations  were 
drawn  and  engraved  for  it.  After  that,  however,  he 
apparently  had  been  content  to  have  his  books  printed 
in  the  usual  way  on  machine-made  paper  with  the 


219 


2  20  "WmiUam  noorns. 

modern  effeminate  type,  without  further  remonstrance 
than  emphatic  denunciation  of  modern  methods  in 
printing  as  in  other  handicrafts.  About  1888  or  1889, 
his  Hammersmith  neighbour,  Mr.  Emery  Walker, 
whose  love  of  fine  printing  was  combined  with  prac- 
tical knowledge  of  methods  and  processes,  awakened 
in  him  a  desire  for  conquest  in  this  field  also.  He 
began  again  collecting  mediaeval  books,  this  time 
with  the  purpose  of  studying  their  type  and  form. 
Among  his  acquisitions  were  a  copy  of  Leonard  of 
Arezzo's  History  of  Florence,  printed  by  Jacobus 
Rubens  in  1476,  in  a  Roman  type,  and  a  copy  of 
Jensen's  Pliny  of  the  same  year.  Parts  of  these  books 
Morris  had  enlarged  by  the  hated  process  of  photo- 
graphy, which  in  this  case  aided  and  abetted  him  to 
some  purpose.  He  could  thus  study  the  individual 
letters  and  master  the  underlying  principles  of  their 
design.  He  then  proceeded  to  design  a  fount  of  type 
for  himself  with  the  aim  of  producing  letters  fine  and 
generous  in  form,  solid  in  line,  without  ''preposter- 
ous thicks  and  thins,"  and  not  compressed  laterally, 
''as  all  later  type  has  grown  to  be  owing  to  com- 
mercial exigencies."  After  he  had  drawn  his  letters 
on  a  large  scale  he  had  them  reduced  by  photography 
to  the  working  size  and  revised  them  carefully  before 
submitting  them  to  the  typecutter.  How  minute 
was  his  attention  to  detail  is  shown  in  the  little  re- 
production of  one  of  his  corrected  letters  with  the 
accompanying  notes.  This  first  type  of  his,  having 
been  founded  on  the  old  Roman  letters,  is  of  course 


W^hile  on  her  hearth  lay  blazing  many  a  piece 
Of  sandals  wood,  rare  gums  and  cinnamon; 
Men  scarcely  know  how  beautiful  fire  is; 
Each  flame  of  it  is  as  a  precious  stone 
Dissolved  in  ever-'moving  light,  and  this 
Belongs  to  each  and  all  who  gaze  upon. 
The  Witch  beheld  it  not,  for  in  her  hand 
She  held  a  woof  that  dimmed  the  burningbrand. 

This  is  the  Golden  type. 


lOWi  cs  the  rcdc  knygbtc  slaync, 
Lcf  tc  dcdc  in  the  plaync, 
XTbc  cbildc  gone  bis  mere  maync 

Hftcrtbcstcdc; 

"Cbc  stcdc  was  swifter  tban  tbe  mere. 

for  be  bade  notbynge  to  bere 

But  bis  sadille  and  bis  gere, 

fro  bym  tbof  e  be  ycdc* 

'CbiQ  18  tbe  Cbauccr  type. 


I  dreetc  mc  forth, and  bappedc  to  mete  anone 
Right  a  faire  lady, I  you  ensure; 
Hnd  she  come  riding  by  hireelf  alone, 
HI  in  white;  with  semblaunce  f  ul  demure 
I  salued  hir,  and  bad  hir  good  aventurc 
Might  hir  bifal,a9  X  coude  most  humbly; 
Hnd  she  answerede:  )My  dough  ter,  gramercy  1 

tThis  is  the  Xlroy  type. 

KELMSCOTT  TYl'ES 


^bc  IRclm^cott  iprc95. 


221 


Roman  in  character  and  is  very  clear  and  bcaiitilul  in 
form.     The  strong  broad  letters  designed  on  "  some- 
thing like  a  square"  make  easy  reading,  and  there  is 
nothing  about  the  appearance  of  the  attractive  page 
to  suggest  archaism.    The  fount,  consisting  of  eighty- 
one  designs  including  stops,  figures,  and  tied  letters, 
was  completed  about  the  beginning  of  1891,  and  on 
the  12th  of  January  in  that  year,  a  cottage  was  taken 
at  number  16  Upper  Mall,  near  the  Kelmscott  House, 
a  compositor  and  a  pressman  were  engaged,  and  the 
Kelmscott  Press  began   its  career.     The  new  type, 
which  Morris  called  the  ''regenerate"  or  ''Jenson- 
Morris"  type,  received   its  formal  name,  ''Golden 
type,"  from  Caxton's  Golden  Legend,  which  Morris 
had  intended  to  reprint  as  the  first  work  of  the  Press, 
and  which  was  undertaken  as  soon  as  The  Glittering 
Plain  was  out  of  the  way.     Caxton's  first  edition  of 
1483  was  borrowed  from  the  Cambridge  University 
Library  for  the  purpose  and  transcribed  for  the  Press 
by  the  daughter  of  Morris's  old  friend  and  publisher, 
F.  S.  Ellis.    No  paper  in  the  market  was  good  enough 
for  the  great  venture,  and  Morris  took  down  to  Mr. 
Batchelor  at  Little  Chart  a  model  dating  back  to  the 
fifteenth  century  and  had  especially  designed  from  it 
an  unbleached  linen  paper,  thin  and  tough,  and  some- 
what transparent,  made  on  wire  moulds  woven  by 
hand  for  the  sake  of  the  slight  irregularities  thus 
caused  in  the  texture,  and  "pleasing  not  only  to 
the  eye,  but  to  the  hand  also;  having  something  of 
the  clean  crisp  quality  of  a  new  bank-note."     For  the 


222  Milllam  riDorris, 

three  different  sizes  Morris  designed  three  water- 
marks, an  apple,  a  daisy,  and  a  perch  with  a  spray  in 
its  mouth.  To  print  his  strong  type  upon  this  hand- 
made paper  it  was  necessary  to  dampen  the  latter 
and  use  a  hand-press,  the  ink  being  applied  by  pelt 
balls,  insuring  an  equable  covering  of  the  surface  of 
the  type  and  a  rich  black  impression.  The  quality 
of  the  ink  was  naturally  of  great  importance  and 
Morris  yearned  to  manufacture  his  own,  but  for  the 
time  contented  himself  with  some  that  he  procured 
from  Hanover  and  with  which  he  produced  excellent 
results.  One  of  his  happiest  convictions  in  regard 
to  his  materials  was  that  heavy  paper  was  entirely 
unfit  for  small  books. 

Concerning  spacing  and  the  placing  of  the  mat- 
ter on  the  page  he  had  pronounced  theories  derived 
from  his  study  of  ancient  books,  but  directed  by  his 
own  sound  taste.  He  held  that  there  should  be 
no  more  white  space  between  the  words  than  just 
clearly  cuts  them  off  from  one  another,  and  that 
"  leads  "  (strips  of  metal  used  to  increase  the  space 
between  the  lines  of  type)  should  be  sparingly 
employed.  The  two  pages  of  a  book,  facing  each 
other  as  it  is  opened,  should  be  considered  a  unit, 
the  edge  of  the  margin  that  is  bound  in  should 
be  the  smallest  of  the  four  edges,  the  top  should 
be  somewhat  wider,  and  the  front  edge  wider  still, 
and  the  tail  widest  of  all.  The  respective  measure- 
ments of  the  most  important  of  the  Kelmscott  books 
are,  one  inch  for  the  inner  margin,  one  and  three- 


PAGE  FROM  KHLMSCOTT  ■CHAUCER."     ILLUSTRATION  BY  BURNE- 
JONES.     BORDER  AND  INITIAL  LETTER  BY  MORRIS 


Z\)c  Ikelmecott  iprcse.  223 

eighths  inches  for  the  head  margin,  two  and  three- 
quarter  inches  for  the  fore  edge,  and  four  inches 
for  the  tail.  *M  go  so  far  as  to  say,''  wrote  Morris, 
''that  any  book  in  which  the  page  is  properly  put 
on  the  paper  is  tolerable  to  look  at,  however  poor 
the  type  may  be  (always  so  long  as  there  is  no 
*  ornament '  which  may  spoil  the  whole  thing), 
whereas  any  book  in  which  the  page  is  wrongly 
set  on  the  paper  is  intolerable  to  look  at,  however 
good  the  type  and  ornaments  may  be." 

The  Golden  Legend,  with  its  ornamented  borders, 
its  handsome  initials,  its  woodcuts,  and  its  twelve 
hundred  and  eighty-six  pages,  kept  the  one  press 
busy  until  the  middle  of  September,  1892.  Before 
it  was  completed  Morris  had  designed  another  fount 
of  type  greatly  more  pleasing  to  him  than  the  first. 
This  was  called  the  Troy  type  from  Caxton's  His- 
tories of  Troye,  the  first  bock  to  be  issued  in  its 
larger  size,  and  was  the  outcome  of  careful  study 
of  the  beautiful  types  of  Peter  Schoeffer  of  Mainz, 
Gunther  Zainer  of  Augsburg,  and  Anthony  Koburger 
of  Nuremberg.  It  was  Gothic  in  character,  but 
Morris  strove  to  redeem  it  from  the  charge  of  un- 
readableness  by  using  the  short  form  of  the  small 
5,  by  diminishing  the  number  of  tied  letters,  and 
abolishing  the  abbreviations  to  be  found  in  mediaeval 
books.  How  far  he  succeeded  is  a  disputed  ques- 
tion, certainly  not  so  far  as  to  make  it  as  easy  read- 
ing for  modern  eyes  as  the  Golden  type.  As  time 
went  on,  however,  the  use  of  the  Golden  type  at 


2  24  TOlIliam  flDorrie, 

the  Kelmscott  Press  became  less  and  less  frequent, 
giving  place  in  the  case  of  most  ot  the  more  im- 
portant books  to  either  the  Troy  type  or  the  Chaucer 
type,  the  latter  being  similar  to  the  former,  save 
that  it  is  Great  Pica  instead  of  Primer  size. 

Morris's  success  in  the  mechanical  application  of 
his  theories  was  surprising,  or  would  have  been 
surprising  had  he  not  constantly  proven  his  genius 
for  success.  Mr.  De  Vinne  quotes  a  prominent 
American  typefounder  as  declaring  after  a  close 
scrutiny  of  his  cuts  of  type  that  he  had  triumphantly 
passed  the  pitfalls  that  beset  all  tyros  and  had  made 
types  that  in  lining,  fitting,  and  adjustment  show 
the  skill  of  the  expert.  "  A  printer  of  the  old  school 
may  dislike  many  of  his  mannerisms  of  composition 
and  make-up,"  adds  Mr.  De  Vinne,  "but  he  will 
cheerfully  admit  that  his  types  and  decorations  and 
initials  are  in  admirable  accord:  that  the  evenness  of 
colour  he  maintains  on  his  rough  paper  is  remark- 
able, and  that  his  registry  of  black  with  red  is  unex- 
ceptionable. No  one  can  examine  a  book  made  by 
Morris  without  the  conviction  that  it  shows  the 
hand  of  a  master." 

Upon  the  artistic  side  it  was  natural  that  he 
should  excel.  His  long  practice  in  and  love  of  design, 
his  close  study  of  the  best  models,  and  his  exacting 
taste  were  promising  of  extraordinary  results.  None 
the  less  there  is  perhaps  more  room  for  criticism  of 
his  book  decoration  than  of  his  plain  bookmaking. 
He  was  convinced,  as  one  would  expect  him  to  be, 


TITLE-PAGE  OF  THE  KELMSCOTT  "CHAUCER' 


Zhc  Ikclmscott  prc06.  225 

that  modern  methods  of  illustrating  and  decorating 
a  book  were  entirely  wrong,  and  he  argued  with 
indisputable  logic  for  the  unity  of  impression  to  be 
gained  from  ornaments  and  pictures  forming  part 
of  the  page,  in  other  words,  being  made  in  line  as 
readily  printed  as  the  type  itself  and  corresponding 
to  it  in  size  and  degree  of  blackness.  He  argued 
that  the  ornament  to  be  ornament  must  submit  to 
certain  limitations  and  become  ''architectural,"  and 
also  that  it  should  be  used  with  exuberance  or  re- 
straint according  to  the  matter  of  the  book  deco- 
rated. Thus  "a  work  on  differential  calculus,"  he 
says,  "a  medical  work,  a  dictionary,  a  collection  of 
a  statesman's  speeches,  or  a  treatise  on  manures, 
such  books,  though  they  might  be  handsomely  and 
well  printed,  would  scarcely  receive  ornament  with 
the  same  exuberance  as  a  volume  of  lyrical  poems, 
or  a  standard  classic,  or  such  like.  A  work  on  Art, 
1  think,  bears  less  of  ornament  than  any  other  kind 
of  book  fnon  bis  in  idem  is  a  good  motto);  again, 
a  book  that  must  have  illustrjtions,  more  or  less 
utilitarian,  should,  I  think,  have  no  actual  onument 
at  all,  because  the  ornament  and  the  illustration 
must  almost  certainly  fight."  He  designed  all  his 
ornaments  with  his  -own  hand,  from  the  minute 
leaves  and  flowers  which  took  the  place  of  periods 
on  his  page,  to  the  full-page  borders,  titles,  and 
elaborate  initials.  He  drew  with  a  brush,  on  a 
sheet  of  paper  from  the  Press  marked  with  ruled 
lines,  showing  the  exact  position  to  be  occupied 


15 


226  Mllliam  fIDorrls, 

by  the  design.  "  It  was  most  usual  during  the  last 
few  years  of  his  life,"  says  Mr.  Vallance,  *'to  find 
him  thus  engaged,  with  his  Indian  ink  and  Chinese 
white  in  little  saucers  before  him  upon  the  table, 
its  boards  bare  of  any  cloth  covering,  but  littered 
with  books  and  papers  and  sheets  of  MS.  He  did 
not  place  any  value  on  the  original  drawings,  re- 
garding them  as  just  temporary  instruments,  only 
fit,  as  soon  as  engraved,  to  be  thrown  away." 
Time  and  trouble  counted  for  nothing  .with  him 
in  gaining  the  desired  result.  But  though  his  orna- 
ment was  always  handsome,  and  occasionally  ex- 
quisite, he  not  infrequently  overloaded  his  page 
with  it,  and  —  preaching  vigorously  the  necessity  of 
restraint  —  allowed  his  fancy  to  lead  him  into  gar- 
rulous profusion.  Despite  his  mediaeval  proclivities, 
his  designs  for  the  borders  of  his  pages  are  intensely 
modern.  Compare  them  with  the  early  books  by 
which  they  were  inspired,  and  their  flowing  elabo- 
ration, so  free  from  unexpectedness,  so  impersonal, 
so  inexpressive,  suggests  the  fatal  defect  of  all  imi- 
tative work  and  f^iils  in  distinction.  But  he  was 
individual  enough  in  temper  if  not  in  execution,  and 
he  brooked  no  conventional  restriction  that  interfered 
with  his  doing  what  pleased  him.  For  example,  the 
notion  of  making  the  border  ornaments  agree  in  spirit 
with  the  subject  matter  of  the  page  was  not  to  be  en- 
tertained for  a  moment  when  he  had  in  mind  a  fine 
design  of  grapes  hanging  ripe  from  their  vines  and  a 
page  of  Chaucer's  description  of  April  to  adorn. 


Zhc  Ikelmscott  press,  227 

During  the  life  of  the  Kelmscott  Press,  a  period 
of  some  half  dozen  years,  Morris  made  six  hundred 
and  forty-four  designs.  The  illustrations  proper,  all 
of  them  woodcuts  harmonising  in  their  strong  black 
line  with  the  ornaments  and  type,  were  made,  with 
few  exceptions,  by  Burne-Jones.  His  designs  were 
nearly  always  drawn  in  pencil,  a  medium  in  which 
his  most  characteristic  effects  were  obtained.  They 
were  then  redrawn  in  ink  by  another  hand,  revised 
by  Burne-Jones,  and  finally  transferred  to  the  block 
again  by  that  useful  Cinderella  of  the  Kelmscott 
Press,  photography.  It  is  obvious  that  the  Kelm- 
scott books,  whatever  fault  may  be  found  with 
them,  could  not  be  other  than  remarkable  creations 
with  Morris  and  Burne-Jones  uniting  their  gifts  to 
make  each  of  them  such  a  picture-book  as  Morris 
declared  at  the  height  of  his  ardour  was  "one  of 
the  very  worthiest  things  toward  the  production  of 
which  reasonable  men  should  strive." 

The  list  of  works  selected  to  be  issued  from  the 
Press  is  interesting,  indicating  as  it  does  a  line  of  taste 
somewhat  narrow  and  tangential  to  the  popular  taste 
of  the  time.  Before  the  three  volumes  of  The  Golden 
Les>end  ("the  Interminable"  it  was  called)  were  out 
of  his  hands,  Morris  had  bought  a  second  large  press 
and  had  engaged  more  workmen  with  an  idea  in 
mind  of  printing  all  his  own  works  beginning  with 
Sigurd  the  Volsung.  He  had  already,  during  1891, 
printed  in  addition  to  The  Glittering  Plain,  a  volume 
of  his  collected  verse  entitled  Poems  by  the  Way,  the 


2  28  Milliam  flDorris. 

final  long  poem  of  which,  Goldilocks  and  Goldilocks, 
he  wrote  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  after  the  book 
was  set  up  in  type,  to  "plump  it  out  a  bit"  as  it 
seemed  rather  scant.  During  the  following  year, 
before  the  appearance  of  The  Golden  Legend,  were 
issued  a  volume  of  poems  by  Wilfrid  Blunt,  who  was 
one  of  his  personal  friends;  the  chapter  from  Ruskin's 
Stones  of  Venice  on  "The  Nature  of  the  Gothic," 
with  which  he  had  such  early  and  such  close  associa- 
tions, and  two  more  of  his  own  works,  The  Defence  of 
Guenevere  and  The  Dream  of  John  Ball.  In  the  case 
of  the  four  books  written  by  himself  he  issued  in  ad- 
dition to  the  paper  copies  a  few  on  vellum.  All  these 
early  books  were  small  quartos  and  bound  in  vellum 
covers.  Immediately  following  The  Golden  Legend 
came  the  Historyes  of  Troye,  two  volumes  in  the  new 
type,  Mackail's  Biblia  Innocentiiim,  and  Caxton's 
Reynarde  the  Foxe  in  large  quarto  size  and  printed  in 
the  Troy  type.  The  year  1893  began  with  a  com- 
paratively modern  book,  Shakespeare's  Poems,  fol- 
lowed in  rapid  succession  by  Caxton's  translation  of 
The  Order  of  Chivalry,  in  one  volume  with  The  Or- 
dination of  Knighthood,  transhted  by  Morris  himself 
from  a  twelfth-century  French  poem ;  Cavendish's  Life 
of  Cardinal  IVolsey ;  Caxton's  history  of  Godefrey 
of  Boloyne  ;  Ralph  Robinson's  translation  of  Sir 
Thomas  More's  Utopia :  Tennyson's  Maud;  a  lecture 
by  Morris  on  Gothic  Architecture,  forty-five  copies 
of  which  he  printed  on  vellum;  and  Lady  Wilde's 
translation  of  Sidonia  the  Sorceress  from  the  German 


xaiTiT^iiionn© 


THE  SMALLER  KELMSCOTT    PRESS-MARK 


THE  LARGER    KELMSCOTT   PRESS-MARK 


DRAWING  BY  MORRIS  OF  THE  LETTER   "  h  "  FOR  KELMSCOTT 
TYPE,  WITH  NOTES  AND  CORRECTIONS 


Zbc  1kcIm6cott  pvcee,  229 

of  William  Meinhold,  a  book  for  which  both  Morris 
and  Rossetti  had  a  positive  passion,  Morris  consider- 
ing it  without  a  rival  of  its  kind,  and  an  almost  fault- 
less reproduction  of  the  life  of  the  past.  The  year 
ended  with  two  volumes  of  Rossetti's  Ballads  and 
Narrative  Poems,  and  The  Tale  of  King  Florus  and 
Fair  fehane,  transhted  by  Morris  from  the  French  of 
a  little  volume  that  forty  years  before  had  served  to 
introduce  him  to  mediaeval  French  romance  and  had 
been  treasured  by  him  ever  since. 

"  After  this  continuous  torrent  of  production,"  says 
Mr.  Mackail,  ''the  Press  for  a  time  slackened  off  a 
little,"  but  the  output  in  1894  consisted  of  ten  books 
as  against  the  eleven  of  the  previous  year.  The  first 
was  a  large  quarto  edition  of  The  Glittering  Plain, 
printed  this  time  in  the  Troy  type  and  illustrated  with 
twenty-three  pictures  by  Walter  Crane.  Next  came 
another  little  volume  of  mediaeval  romance,  the  story 
of  /I  mis  and  A  mile,  translated  in  a  day  and  a  quarter; 
and  after  this,  Keats's  Poems. 

In  July  of  the  same  year  the  bust  of  Keats,  executed 
by  the  American  sculptor.  Miss  Anne  Whitney,  was 
unveiled  in  the  Parish  Church  of  Hampstead,  the  first 
memorial  to  Keats  on  English  ground.  The  scheme 
for  such  a  memorial  had  been  promoted  in  America, 
Lowell  being  one  of  the  earliest  to  encourage  it,  and 
a  little  notice  of  the  ceremony  was  printed  at  the 
Kelmscott  Press  with  the  card  of  invitation.  Swin- 
burne's Atalanta  in  Calydon  followed  Keats  in  a 
large  quarto  edition.    Next  came  the  third  volume 


230  Milliam  riDorne. 

of  the  French  romances  containing  The  Tale  of  the 
Emperor  Constans  and  The  History  of  Oversea.     At 
this  point  Morris  returned  again  to  the  printing  of  his 
own  works,  and  the  next  book  to  be  issued  from  the 
Press  was  The  IVood  beyond  the  World,  with  a  lovely 
frontispiece  by  Burne-Jones  representing  "the  Maid," 
the  heroine  of  the  romance,  and  one  of  the  most 
charming  of  the  visionary  women  created  by  Morris. 
The  Book  of  Wisdom  and  Lies,  a  Georgian  story-book 
of  the  eighteenth  century,  written  by  Sulkhan-Saba 
Orbeliani,  and  translated  by  Oliver  Wardrop,  was  the 
next  stranger  to  come  from  the  Press,  and  after  it  was 
issued  the  first  of  a  set  of  Shelley's  Poems.    A  rhymed 
version  of  The  Penitential  Psalms  found  in  a  manu- 
script of  The  Hours  of  Our  Lady,  written   in  the 
fifteenth  century,  followed  it,  and  The  Epistola  de 
Contemptu  Mundi,  a  letter  in  Italian  by  Savonarola, 
the  autograph  original  of  which  belonged  to  Mr. 
Fairfax  Murray,  completed  the  list  of  this  prolific 
year.     The  year  1895  produced  only  five  volumes, 
the  first  of  them  the  Tale  of  Beowulf  which  Morris 
with  characteristic  daring  had  translated  into  verse 
by  the  aid  of  a  prose  translation  made  for  him  by  Mr. 
A.  J.  Wyatt.     Not  himself  an  Anglo-Saxon  scholar, 
Morris  was  unable  to  give  such  a  rendering  of  this 
chief  epic  of  the  Germanic  races  as  would  appeal  to 
the  scholarly  mind,  and  his  zeal  for  literal  translation 
led  him  to  employ  a  phraseology  nothing  short  of 
outlandish.     At  the  end  of  the  book  he  printed  a  list 
of  "words  not  commonly  used  now,"  but  his  con- 


ZTbc  Ikclmscott  preee.  231 

structions  were  even  more  obstructive  than  his  un- 
common words,  hi  the  following  passage,  for  exam- 
ple, which  opens  the  section  describing  the  coming  of 
Beowulf  to  the  land  of  the  Danes,  only  the  word  ' '  nith- 
ing"  is  defined  in  the  index,  yet  certainly  the  average 
reader  may  be  expected  to  pause  for  the  meaning : 

So  care  that  was  time-long  the  kinsman  of  Healfdene 
Still  seethed  without  ceasing,  nor  might  the  wise  warrior 
Wend  otherwhere  woe,  for  o'er  strong  was  the  strife 
All  loathly  so  longsome  late  laid  on  the  people, 
Need-wrack  and  grim  nithing,  of  night-bales  the  greatest. 

Morris  himself  found  his  interest  wane  before  the 
work  was  completed,  but  he  made  a  handsome  quarto 
volume  of  it,  with  fine  marginal  decorations,  and  an 
exceptionally  well-designed  title-page.  A  reprint  of 
Syr  Percyvelle  of  Gales  after  the  edition  printed  by 
J.  O.  Halliwell  from  the  MS.  in  the  library  of  Lincoln 
Cathedral,  a  large  quarto  edition  of  The  Life  and  Death 
of  fa  son ;  two  i6mo  volumes  of  a  new  romance  en- 
titled. Child  Christopher  and  Goldilands  the  Fair;  and 
Rossetti's  Hand  and  Soul,  reprinted  from  the  Germ, 
brought  the  Press  to  its  great  year  1896.  This  year 
was  to  see  the  completion  of  the  folio  Chaucer,  which 
since  early  in  1892  had  been  in  preparation,  and  had 
filled  the  heart  of  Morris  with  anxiety,  anticipation, 
and  joy.  Before  it  came  from  the  press  three  other 
books  were  issued.  Merrick's  Poems  came  tlrst. 
Then  a  selection  of  thirteen  poems  from  Coleridge, 
''a  muddle-brained  metaphysician,  who  by  some 
strange  freak  of  fortune  turned  out  a  few  real  poems 


232  iKIlilliam  riDorris. 

amongst  the  dreary  flood  of  inanity  which  was  his 
wont ! " 

The  poems  chosen  were,  Christabel,  Kiibla  Khan, 
The  Rime  of  the  Ancient  Mariner,  Love,  A  Fragment 
of  a  Sexton's  Tale,  The  Ballad  of  the  Dark  Ladie, 
Names,  Youth  and  Age,  The  Improvisatore,  Work 
without  Hope,  The  Garden  of  Boccaccio,  The  Knight's 
Tomb,  and  Alice  du  Clos.  The  first  four  were  the 
only  ones,  however,  concerning  which  Morris  would 
own  to  feeling  any  interest.  The  Coleridge  volume 
was  followed  by  the  large  quarto  edition  of  Morris's 
latest  romance,  The  Well  at  the  World's  End  in  two 
volumes,  and  then  appeared  the  Chaucer,  the  mere 
printing  of  which  had  occupied  a  year  and  nine 
months.  The  first  two  copies  were  brought  home 
from  the  binders  on  the  second  of  June,  in  a  season 
of  ''  lots  of  sun  "  and  plentiful  apple-blossoms,  during 
which  Morris  was  beginning  to  realise  that  the  end 
of  his  delight  in  seasons  and  in  books  was  fast  ap- 
proaching. 

Mr.  Ellis  has  declared  the  Kelmscott  Chaucer  to 
be,  "for  typography,  ornament,  and  illustration  com- 
bined, the  grandest  book  that  has  been  issued  from 
the  press  since  the  invention  of  typography."  Morris 
lavished  upon  it  the  utmost  wealth  of  his  invention. 
The  drawing  of  the  title-page  alone  occupied  a  fort- 
night, and  the  splendid  initial  letters  were  each  an 
elaborate  work  of  art.  The  ornament  indeed  was  too 
profuse  to  be  wholly  satisfactory,  especially  as  much 
of  it  was  repeated;  nevertheless,  the  book  was  one  of 


Zbc  Ikclm^cott  iprcss.  233 

great  magnificence  and  the  glee  with  which  Morris 
beheld  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at.  The  Chaucer 
type  had  been  specially  designed  for  it,  and  Burne- 
Jones  had  made  for  it  eighty-seven  drawings,  while 
Morris  himself  designed  for  it  the  white  pigskin  bind- 
ing with  silver  clasps,  executed  at  the  Doves  Bindery 
for  those  purchasers  who  desired  their  elaborate  and 
costly  volume  in  a  more  suitable  garb  than  the  ordi- 
nary half  holland  covers  which  gave  it  the  appearance 
of  a  silken  garment  under  a  calico  apron. 

During  the  remainder  of  the  year  1896  the  Press 
issued  the  first  volumes  of  the  Kelmscott  edition  of 
The  Earthly  Paradise,  a  volume  of  Latin  poems 
(Laiides  Beatae  Mari'ae  Virginis),  the  first  Kelmscott 
book  to  be  printed  in  three  colours,  the  quotation 
heading  each  stanza  being  in  red,  the  initial  letter  in 
pale  blue,  and  the  remaining  text  in  black:  The 
Floure  and  the  Leafe  and  The  Shepherde's  Calender. 
Before  The  Shepherde's  Calender  reached  its  comple- 
tion, however,  Morris  was  dead,  and  the  subsequent 
work  of  the  Press  was  merely  the  clearing  up  of  a 
few  books  already  advertised.  The  first  of  these  to 
appear  was  the  prose  romance  by  Morris  entitled 
The  Water  of  the  Wondrous  Isles :  this  was  issued 
on  the  first  day  of  April,  1897,  with  borders  and 
ornaments  designed  entirely  by  Morris  save  for  a 
couple  of  initial  words  completed  from  his  unfin- 
ished designs  by  R.  Catterson-Smith.  To  this  year 
belong  also  the  two  trial  pages  made  for  the  in- 
tended folio  edition  oi  Froissart,  the  heraldic  borders 


234  Milliam  flDorrie. 

of  which  far  surpass  any  of  the  Chaucer  ornaments, 
and  the  two  old  English  romances,  Sire  Degravaiint 
and  Syr  Yscimbrace.  In  1898  came  a  large  quarto 
volume  of  German  woodcuts,  and  three  more  works 
by  Morris,  a  small  folio  edition  oi  Sigurd  the  Volsung, 
which  was  to  have  been  a  large  folio  with  twenty- 
five  woodcuts  by  Burne-Jones;  The  Sundering  Flood, 
the  last  romance  written  by  Morris,  and  a  large 
quarto  edition  of  Love  is  Enough.  These  were  fol- 
lowed by  a  "  Note"  written  by  Morris  himself  on  his 
aims  in  starting  the  Kelmscott  Press,  accompanied 
with  facts  concerning  the  Press,  and  an  annotated 
list  of  all  the  books  there  printed,  compiled  by  Mr. 
S.  C.  Cockerell,  who,  since  July,  1894,  had  been 
secretary  to  the  Press.    This  was  the  end.' 

Although  Morris  not  only  neglected  commercial 
considerations  in  printing  his  books,  lavishing  their 
price  many  times  over  in  valuable  time  and  labour 
and  the  actual  expenditure  of  money  to  secure  some 
inconspicuous  detail;  but  defied  commercial  methods 
openly  in  the  character  of  his  type,  the  quality  of  his 
materials,  and  the  slowness  of  his  processes,  the 
Kelmscott  Press  testified,  as  most  of  his  enterprises 
did  testify,  to  the  practical  worth  of  his  ideals. 
Quite  content  to  make  just  enough  by  his  books  to 
continue  printing  them  in  the  most  conscientious  and 
desirable  way  he  knew,  he  gradually  obtained  from 
them  a  considerable  profit.   The  Press  had  early  been 

'  The  trustees  are  now  publishing  the  remainder  of  Morris's  own  works  in  the 
type  of  the  Kelmscott  Press,  though  without  the  ornaments,  that  a  uniform  edition 
may  be  had. 


specimen  Page  from  the  Kelmscott  ''Froissart" 

(Projected  Edition) 


mi 


i 


m 

neae  BeeYNNecn  cne  pROLoee  of  syr  iodhim  fRois 
SHRC  Of  cne  crjRoisicLes  of  fRflOMce,  I^IGLHNDe,  hisd 

OCneR  pLHCeS  HD70Y>nnV<3eE3K53i-a>'«HFg^:r>K-wa^R^sa 


Ch«  first  CbaptTt4>^J 


CnHC  tt>t  honorablt  and  noble  ivtmurte  of 
f\cati8 of  armce.  don* fiacbvutd  by  the  warrta 
of  fraunc(  and  IngUndt,  shuldc  notablv  be 
inrcgistcrtd,  and  put  in  ptrpttuall  memoir. 
wbcrrtT  tt>«  prcwt  d  hardy  may  bauc  cnsam- 
pU  to  fncouragc  tt>«m  fn  tbtyr  »«ll  doyng,  1 
STr7ohan  f  roissart.  wyll  treat  and  recorde  an 
hyetory  of  great  louage  and  preyse :  but, or! 
begyn,  I  require  the  aauyour  of  all  the  worlde, 
who  of  nothyng  created  al  tbyngee.  that  he 
wylt  gyue  me  aucbe  grace  and  vnderetand- 
yng,  ttiatlmay  continue  and  peroeuer  in  such 
wy»f  thatwb08otbiapro<e8redethorhereth, 
maT  (ahepastaunce,  pleasure,  and  ensjumple 
J0\tia  said  of  trouth,  that  al  buyldyngea  are 
nuaoned  &  wroughtc  of  dyucrae  atonea,and 
all  great  ryuere  are  gurged  and  assemblede  of 
dhKTS  aurges  and  apryngea  of  water:  in  lyht/ 
wyee  all  ec^cncea  are  extraught  &  compiled  of 
diucTSC  cler*e8,  of  that  one  wrytetb.  another 
parauenturc  is  ignorant ;  but  by  the  famoua 
wryryngof  aundcnt  auctours.  all  thyngis  ben 
hnowen  in  one  place  or  other. 
"  '  BHf<  to  attaygne  to  the  mater  that  I 
baueentreprtaed,  Twyll  begyn, fyrat, 
by  the  grace  of  God  and  the  blessed 
Virgim  our  Lady  Saynt  Mary,  from  whom  all 
comrert  and  consolation  procedeth, and  wylt 
take  my  foundation  out  of  the  true  cronicles 
somryme  compylcd  by  the  right  reucrend, 
dlscreteand  sage  maiatcrloban  la  Bele,  som- 
tyme  cbanon in  Saint  LambartiBofLicg'c,  who 
with  good  herte  &  due  diligence  dyd  his  true 
deuoure  in  wryryng  this  noble  crontcte,  and 
dydcontynuc  it  all  bis  lyfca  daya.in  foloxryng 
the  trouth  aa  nerc  as  he  mygbt,  to  bis  great 
charge  and  coate  in  schyng  to  procure  and  to 
haue  the  pertlght  tinooclcdge  thereof,  he  was 


also  In  his  iyfea  daya  wclbeloued,  and  of  the 
eecret  couneayle  with  the  lorde  air  7ohan  of 
l^aynaulte.who  la  often  remem  bred,  as  reaeon  ijj 
requyretb.here  after  in  tbiat>ohc:forof  many 
fayre  &  noble  auenturca  be  was  chiefe  causer, 
&  to  the  hyng  ngbt  nigb,  &  by  whose  meanea 
the  said  ayr^oban  la  Bele  mygbt  well  hnowc 
and  here  of  many  dyuers  noble  dedea.  Che 
whiche  here  after  sbal  be  declared. 

ZfROaCn  it  i8,thatlwbohai>ecntrepri- 
jJ^^H  aed  this  bolte  toordeyne  for  pleasure 
isSm!  and  paataunce,  to  the  whiche  alwayea 
Xhave  been  mclyncd,  £t  for  that  intent  I  haue 
folowed  and  frequented  the  company  of  dy- 
ueree  noble  &  great  lordea.aa  well  in  f  raunce, 
Inglande,  and  Scotlande,  as  in  diuerae  other 
'countriee.  and  have  bad  hnowtedge  by  them, 
and  alwayea  to  my  power  iustly  haue  inquired 
for  the  trcuth  of  tt>ededia  of  warre  and  auen- 
turca that  haue  fallen,  and  apecially  ayth  the 
great  batell  of  poytyera,  where  aa  the  noble 
I  nynge  7oban  of  france  was  tahyn  priaoner, 
'  aa  before  ttwt  tymelwas  but  of  a  yongeagc 
or  ynderatandyng  0  fVswe  be  it  1  toNe  it  on 
me  aesoone  as  1  come  from  ecole,  to  wryte 
andrecite  the  aayd  bohe.  &  bare  the  samecom/ 
pyled  intoXngland,  and  presented  the  volume 
thereof  to  my  Ijdv  phelyppe  of  Reynaulte, 
noble  quene  of  Inglande,  who  right  amyably 
receyyed  it  tomy  great  proflte&ayauncement. 
gf4D  it  may  be  ao,  that  the  same  bohe 
,  Is  nat  as  yet  examyned  nor  corrected 
>  soiustelyas  auchea  caserequyreth: 
for  featis  of  armes  derely  bought  &  achyued, 
the  honor  therof  ought  tobegyuen&  truly  dC' 
uided  tothem  that  by  prowea  &  bard  trauayle 
haue  deaerued  it^  therfore  to  acquyte  me  in 
that  bihairc,<i  in  folowyng  the  trouth  as  near  I 
as  \  can,  X  lohan  ftoissart  have  entrepryaed 
thishystoryon  the  foraaid  ordynaunce  &  true 
f  undaicion,  at  the  instaunce  and  request  of  a 
der«  lorde  of  myn,  Robert  of  J^amure,  knight. 
lorde  of  Bewfort,  to  whom  en  tierly  1  owe  loue  ^ 
andobeysaunce,  AOodgraunt  me  todothat  W 
tbyng  that  may  be  to  hie  pleasure.  Hmen. 
r^ere  speltethe  the  auctour  of  suche  as  were 
moat  valiant  hnyghtis  to  be  made  mencion  of 
in  this  boNe.  CapituloU.,i(ii,ip 


53!==^  LL  noble  bertto,  to  en> 
g\  i  corage&toshewethem 
**'  ,  cnsample  and  mater  of 
honour.  I  Syr  7ohann 
froiaaart  begynne  to 
I  apelte  after  the  true  re' 
port  andrelation  of  my 
master  7ohan  la  Bele. 
somtyme  Chanon  of 
Saynte  Lambertia  of 


fyj 


^be  Ikelmscott  press.  235 

moved  to  quarters  larger  than  the  first  occupied  by 
it,  and  three  presses  were  kept  busy.  By  the  end 
of  1892  Morris  had  become  his  own  publisher,  and 
after  that  time  all  the  Kelmscott  books  were  pub- 
lished by  him  except  in  cases  of  special  arrangement. 
A  few  copies,  usually  less  than  a  dozen,  of  nearly  all 
the  books  were  printed  on  vellum  and  sold  at  a  pro- 
portionately higher  price  than  the  paper  copies. 
The  volumes  were  bound  either  in  vellum  or  half 
holland,  these  temporary  and  unsatisfactory  covers 
probably  having  been  chosen  on  account  of  the 
strength  and  slow-drying  qualities  of  the  ink  used,  a 
note  to  the  prospectus  of  the  Chaucer  stating  that  the 
book  would  not  be  fit  for  ordinary  full  binding  with 
the  usual  pressure  for  at  least  a  year  after  its  issue. 
The  issue  prices  charged  for  the  books  were  not  low, 
but  certainly  not  exorbitant  when  time,  labour,  and 
expense  of  producing  them  are  taken  into  considera- 
tion. They  were  prizes  for  the  collector  from  the 
beginning,  the  impossibility  of  duplicating  them  and 
the  small  editions  sent  out  giving  them  a  charm  and 
a  value  not  easily  to  be  resisted,  and  Morris  himself 
and  his  trustees  adopted  measures  tending  to  protect 
the  collector's  interests.  After  the  death  of  Morris 
all  the  woodblocks  for  initials,  ornaments,  and  illus- 
trations were  sent  to  the  British  Museum  and  were 
accepted,  with  the  condition  that  they  should  not 
be  reproduced  or  printed  from  for  the  space  of  one 
hundred  years.  The  electrotypes  were  destroyed. 
The  matter  was  talked  over  with  Morris  during  his 


236  Milliam  flDorrts, 

lifetime  and  he  sanctioned  this  course  on  the  part  of 
the  trustees,  its  aim  being  to  keep  the  series  of  the 
Kelmscott  Press  "a  thing  apart  and  to  prevent  the 
designs  becoming  stale  by  repetition."  While  there 
is  a  fair  ground  for  the  criticism  frequently  made 
that  a  man  urging  the  necessity  of  art  for  the 
people  showed  inconsistency  by  withdrawing  from 
their  reach  art  which  he  could  control  and  deemed 
valuable,  it  must  be  remembered  that  in  his  mind 
the  great  result  to  be  obtained  was  the  stirring  up 
the  people  to  making  art  for  themselves.  Morris 
rightly  counted  the  joy  to  be  gained  from  making  a 
beautiful  thing  as  far  higher  than  the  joy  to  be  gained 
from  seeing  one.  He  was  never  in  favour  of  making 
a  work  of  art  "common  "  by  reproducing  or  servilely 
imitating  it.  He  had  shown  the  printers  of  books 
his  idea  of  the  way  they  should  manage  their  craft, 
ix)w  let  them  develop  it  themselves  along  the  lines 
pointed  out  for  them.  And  whether  he  was  or  was 
not  consistent  in  allowing  the  works  of  the  Kelmscott 
Press  to  be  cut  off  from  any  possibility  of  a  large  circu- 
lation, his  was  the  temperament  to  feel  all  the  delight 
to  be  won  from  exclusive  ownership.  He  had  the 
true  collector's  passion  for  possession.  If  he  was 
bargaining  for  a  book,  says  his  biographer,  he  would 
carry  on  the  negotiation  with  the  book  tucked 
tightly  under  his  arm,  as  if  it  might  run  away.  His 
collection  of  old  painted  books  gave  him  the  keenest 
emotions  before  and  after  his  acquisition  of  them. 
Of  one,  which  finally  proved  unattainable,  he  wrote, 


Zbc  Ikwinuxott  jprcss.  237 

''Such  a  book!  mv  eyes!  and  1  am  beating  my  brains 
to  see  if  1  can  fmd  any  thread  of  an  intrigue  to  begin 
upon,  so  as  to  creep  and  crawl  toward  the  posses- 
sion of  it."  It  is  no  matter  for  wonder  if  in  imagina- 
tion he  beheld  the  love  of  bibliophiles  for  his  own 
works  upon  which  he  had  so  ardently  spent  his 
energies,  and  was  gratified  by  the  prevision. 

Whether  the  Kelmscott  books  will  increase  or 
decrease  in  money  value  as  time  goes  on  is  a  ques- 
tion that  stirs  interest  in  book-buying  circles.  They 
have  already  had  their  rise  and  ebb  to  a  certain 
extent,  and  the  prices  brought  by  the  copies  owned 
by  Mr.  Ellis  at  the  sale  of  his  library  after  his  death 
indicate  that  a  steady  level  of  interest  has  been 
reached  among  collectors  for  the  time  being  at  least; 
only  five  of  the  copies  printed  on  paper  exceeding 
prices  previously  paid  for  them.  The  presentation 
copy  on  vellum  of  the  great  Chaucer  brought  five 
hundred  and  ten  pounds,  certainly  a  remarkable 
sum  for  a  modern  book,  under  any  conditions,  and 
nearly  a  hundred  pounds  more  than  the  highest 
price  which  Morris  himself  up  to  the  summer  of 
1894  had  ever  paid  for  even  a  fourteenth-century 
book.  The  paper  copy  of  the  Chaucer  sold  at  the 
Ellis  sale  for  one  hundred  and  twelve  pounds  and 
a  paper  copy  in  ordinary  binding  sold  in  America 
in  1902  for  $650,  while  a  paper  copy  in  the  special 
pigskin  binding  brought  $930  the  same  year.  The 
issue  price  for  the  four  hundred  and  twenty-five 
paper  copies  was  twenty  pounds  apiece,  and  for 


238  TKIliUiam  riDoriis. 

the  eight  copies  on  vellum  offered  for  sale  out  of 
the  thirteen  printed,  a  hundred  and  twenty  guineas 
apiece.  The  posthumous  edition  oi  Sigurd  the  Vol- 
sung,  the  paper  copies  of  which  were  issued  at  six 
guineas  apiece,  brought  at  the  Ellis  sale  twenty-six 
pounds.  News  from  Nowhere,  issued  at  two  guineas, 
has  never  yet  brought  a  higher  price  than  the  five 
pounds,  fifteen  shillings  paid  for  it  in  1899,  while 
Keats's  Poems  issued  at  one  pound,  ten  shillings,  rose 
as  high  as  twenty-seven  pounds,  ten  shillings,  also 
in  1899.  As  a  general  measure  of  the  advance  in 
the  Kelmscott  books  since  the  death  of  Morris,  it 
may  be  noted  that  the  series  owned  by  Mr.  Ellis, 
excluding  duplicates,  and  including  a  presentation 
copy  oi  Jason  and  two  fine  bindings  for  the  paper 
and  the  vellum  Chaucer,  represented  a  gross  issue 
price  of  six  hundred  and  twelve  pounds,  ten  shillings, 
and  realised  two  thousand,  three  hundred  and  sixty- 
seven  pounds,  two  shillings.  For  one  decade  of 
the  life  of  a  modern  series  that  is  a  great  record, 
and  it  would  be  a  rash  prophet  who  should  venture 
to  predict  future  values. 


CHAPTER  XI. 
LATER  WRITINGS. 


THE  writings  of  Morris's  later  years  consist,  as 
we  have  seen,  chiefly  of  prose  romances. 
The  little  group  beginning  with  The  House 
of  the  IVolfings  and  ending  with  The  Sundering 
Flood  were  written  with  no  polemical  or  prosely- 
tising intention,  with  merely  his  old  delight  in  story- 
telling and  in  depicting  the  beauty  of  the  external 
world  and  the  kindness  of  men  and  maids.  Curiosity 
had  never  played  any  great  part  in  his  mental  equip- 
ment; he  cared  little  to  know  or  speculate  further 
than  the  visible  and  tangible  surface  of  life.  ''The 
skin  of  the  world  "  was  sufflcient  for  him,  and  in 
these  later  romances  all  that  is  beautiful  and  winning 
has  chiefly  to  do  with  the  skin  of  the  world  pre- 
sented in  its  spring-time  freshness.  The  back- 
ground of  nature  is  always  exquisite.  With  the 
landscape  of  the  North,  which  had  made  its  indeli- 
ble impression  upon  him,  he  mingled  the  scenes  — 
''the  dear  scenes"  he  would  have  called  them  — 
of   his  childhood    and    the  fairer  portions  of  the 


239 


240  "Cmilliam  riDorrie. 

Thames  shore  as  he  had  long  and  intimately  known 
them;  and  in  his  books,  as  in  his  familiar  letters, 
he  constantly  speaks  of  the  weather  and  the  seasons 
as  matters  of  keen  importance  in  the  sum  of  daily 
happiness.  Thus,  whatever  we  miss  from  his  ro- 
mances, we  gain,  what  is  missing  from  the  majority 
of  modern  books,  familiarity  with  the  true  aspect  of 
the  outdoor  world.  We  have  the  constant  sense 
of  ample  sky  and  pleasant  air,  and  green  woods 
and  cool  waters.  The  mountains  are  near  us,  and 
often  the  ocean,  and  the  freedom  of  a  genuine  wild- 
wood  that  is  no  enchanted  forest  or  ideal  vision. 
Inexpressibly  charming  are  such  pictures  as  those 
of  Elfhild  (in  The  Sundering  Flood)  piping  to  her 
sheep  and  dancing  on  the  bank  of  the  river,  on  the 
bright  mid-April  day,  whose  sun  dazzles  her  eyes 
with  its  brilliant  shining;  and  of  Birdalone  (in  The 
Water  of  the  PVondroiis  Isles)  embroidering  her 
gown  and  smock  in  the  wood  of  Evilshaw.  What 
could  be  more  expressive  of  lovely  open-air  peace 
than  this  description?  "Who  was  glad  now  but 
Birdalone;  she  grew  red  with  new  pleasure,  and  knelt 
down  and  kissed  the  witch's  hand,  and  then  went 
her  way  to  the  wood  with  her  precious  lading,  and 
wrought  there  under  her  oak-tree  day  after  day,  and 
all  days,  either  there,  or  in  the  house  when  the 
weather  was  foul.  That  was  in  the  middle  of  March, 
when  all  birds  were  singing,  and  the  young  leaves 
showing  on  the  hawthorns,  so  that  there  were  pale 
green  clouds,  as  it  were,   betwixt  the  great  grey 


Xatcr  Mritinos.  241 

boles  of  oak  and  sweet-chestnut;  and  by  the  lake 
the  meadow-saffron  new-thrust-up  was  opening  its 
blossom;  and  March  wore  and  April,  and  still  she 
was  at  work  happily  when  now  it  was  later  May, 
and  the  harebells  were  in  full  bloom  down  the  bent 

before  her and  still  she  wrought  on 

at  her  gown  and  her  smock,  and  it  was  well-nigh 
done.  She  had  broidered  the  said  gown  with  roses 
and  lilies,  and  a  tall  tree  springing  up  from  amidmost 
the  hem  of  the  skirt,  and  a  hart  on  either  side  thereof, 
face  to  face  of  each  other.  And  the  smock  she  had 
sewn  daintily  at  the  hems  and  the  bosom  with  fair 
knots  and  buds.  It  was  now  past  the  middle  of 
June  hot  and  bright  weather." 

And  only  less  delightful  than  these  glimpses  of 
the  natural  world  are  the  recurring  portraits  of  half- 
grown  boys  and  girls,  all  different  and  all  lovable. 
The  sweetness  of  adolescent  beauty  had  for  Morris 
an  irresistible  appeal,  and  while  his  characters  have 
little  of  the  psychological  charm  inseparable  in  real 
life  from  dawning  qualities  and  undeveloped  po- 
tentialities, they  are  as  lovely  as  the  morning  in  the 
brightness  of  hair,  the  slimness  of  form,  the  freedom 
of  gesture  with  which  he  endows  them.  The 
shapely  brown  hands  and  feet  of  Ursula,  her  ruddy 
colour,  her  slender  sturdiness,  and  brave  young 
laugh  are  attractions  as  potent  as  the  more  delicate 
charm  of  Birdalone's  serious  eyes  and  thin  face,  or 
Elfliild's  flower-like  head  and  tender  playfulness; 
and  all  these  heroines  are  alike  in  a  fme  capability 


242  Milliani  nDorris. 

for  useful  toil  and  pride  in  it.  When  the  old  carle 
says  to  Birdalone,  "  It  will  be  no  such  hard  life  for 
thee,  for  I  have  still  some  work  in  me,  and  thou 
mayst  do  something  in  spite  of  thy  slender  and 
delicate  fashion,"  she  replies  with  merry  laughter, 
"  Forsooth,  good  sire,  I  might  do  somewhat  more 
than  something;  for  I  am  deft  in  all  such  work  as 
here  ye  need;  so  fear  not  but  I  should  earn  my 
livelihood,  and  that  with  joy."  Ursula  also  knows 
all  the  craft  of  needlework,  and  all  the  manners  of 
the  fields,  and  finds  nothing  in  work  to  weary  her; 
and  even  in  the  Maid  of  The  Wood  beyond  the 
World,  with  her  magic  power  to  revive  flowers  by 
the  touch  of  her  fingers,  is  felt  the  preferable  human 
power  to  make  comfort  and  pleasantness  by  the 
right  performance  of  plain  tasks. 

Nearly  if  not  quite  equal  to  Morris's  expression 
of  love  for  the  beauty  of  nature  and  of  fair  human- 
ity is  his  expression  of  the  love  for  beautiful  handi- 
craft, to  which  his  whole  life  and  all  his  writings 
alike  testify.  Whatever  is  omitted  from  his  stories 
of  love  and  adventure,  he  never  omits  to  familiarise 
his  readers  with  the  ornament  lavished  upon  build- 
ings and  garments  and  countless  accessories;  hardly 
a  dozen  pages  of  any  one  of  the  romances  may  be 
turned  before  the  description  of  some  piece  of  art- 
istic workmanship  is  met.  Osberne's  knife  in  The 
Sundering  Flood  is  early  introduced  to  the  reader  as 
"a  goodly  weapon,  carven  with  quaintnesses  about 
the  heft,  the  blade  inlaid  with  runes  done  in  gold 


Xatcr  Miitinos.  243 

and  the  sheath  of  silver,"  and  the  gifts  he  sends  to 
Elfhild  across  the  flood  are  "an  ouch  or  chain  or 
arm-ring"  fashioned  "quaintly  and  tinely,  "  or  "f^iir 
windowed  shoon,  and  broidered  hosen  and  dainty 
smocks,  and  silken  kerchiefs";  much  is  made  of 
his  holiday  raiment  of  scarlet  and  gold,  of  his  flow- 
ered green  coat,  and  of  the  fine  gear  of  gold  and 
green  for  which  Elfhild  changes  her  grey  cloak.  In 
The  Story  of  the  Glittering  Plain,  filled  as  it  is  with 
the  sterner  spirit  of  the  sagas,  there  is  still  room 
for  much  detail  concerning  the  carven  panelling  of 
the  shut-bed,  in  which  was  pictured  "fair  groves 
and  gardens,  with  tlowery  grass  and  fruited  trees 
all  about,"  and  "fair  women  abiding  therein,  and 
lovely  young  men  and  warriors,  and  strange  beasts 
and  many  marvels,  and  the  ending  of  wrath  and 
beginning  of  pleasure,  and  the  crowning  of  love," 
and  for  the  account  of  the  painted  book,  "  covered 
outside  with  gold  and  gems"  and  painted  within 
with  woods  and  castles,  "and  burning  mountains, 
and  the  wall  of  the  world,  and  kings  upon  their 
thrones,  and  fair  women  and  v/arriors,  all  most 
lovely  to  behold."  As  for  the  fair  Birdalone,  her 
pleasure  in  fine  stuffs  and  rich  embroideries  is  un- 
surpassed in  the  annals  of  womankind.  The  wood- 
wife  with  canny  knowledge  of  her  tastes  brings  her 
the  fairy  web,  declaring  that  if  she  dare  wear  it 
she  shall  presently  be  clad  as  goodly  as  she  can 
wish.  Birdalone  can  be  trusted  to  don  any  attire 
that  meets  her  fancy  (and  to  doff  it  as  willingly, 


244  Milliam  flDorris. 

for  she  has  a  startling  habit  not  uncommon  with 
Morris's  heroines  of  stripping  off  her  garments  to 
let  the  winds  of  heaven  play  upon  her  unimpeded). 
The  wood-wife  places  the  raiment  she  has  brought 
on  Birdalone's  outstretched  arms,  ''and  it  was  as  if 
the  sunbeam  had  thrust  through  the  close  leafage  of 
the  oak,  and  made  its  shadow  nought  a  space  about 
Birdalone,  so  gleamed  and  glowed  in  shifty  bright- 
ness the  broidery  of  the  gown;  and  Birdalone  let  it 
fall  to  earth,  and  passed  over  her  hands  and  arms 
the  fme  smock  sewed  in  yellow  and  white  silk,  so 
that  the  web  thereof  seemed  of  mingled  cream  and 
curd;  and  she  looked  on  the  shoon  that  lay  beside 
the  gown,  that  were  done  so  nicely  and  fmely  that 
the  work  was  as  the  feather-robe  of  a  beauteous 
bird,  whereof  one  scarce  can  say  whether  it  be 
bright  or  grey,  thousand-hued  or  all  simple  of 
colour.  Birdalone  quivered  for  joy  of  all  the  fair 
things,  and  crowed  in  her  speech  as  she  knelt  before 
Habundia  to  thank  her."  Thus  Morris  carried  into 
his  "  pleasure-work  of  books  "  the  "  bread-and-but- 
ter work  "  of  which  he  was  hardly  less  fond. 

But  in  the  deeper  realities  of  life  with  which 
even  romantic  fiction  may  deal,  and  must  deal  if 
it  is  to  lay  hold  of  the  modern  imagination,  these 
romances  are  poor.  Not  one  of  his  characters  is 
developed  by  circumstance  into  a  fully  equipped 
human  being  thoroughly  alive  to  the  intellectual 
and  moral  as  to  the  physical  and  emotional  world. 
His    men    and  women   are    eternally  young    and, 


OLatcr  Ximntinne. 


245 


with  the  physical  freshness  of  youth,  have  also 
the  crude,  unrounded,  unfinished,  unmoulded  char- 
acter of  youth.  They  have  all  drunk  of  the  Well 
at  the  World's  End,  and  the  scars  of  experience 
have  disappeared,  leaving  a  blank  surface.  The 
range  of  their  emotions  and  passions  is  as  sim- 
ple and  narrow  as  with  children,  and  life  as  the 
great  story-tellers  understand  it  is  not  shown  by 
the  chronicle  of  their  days.  In  many  of  the  ro- 
mances, it  is  true,  the  introduction  of  legendary  and 
unreal  persons  and  incidents  relieves  the  writer  from 
all  obligation  to  make  his  account  more  lifelike 
than  a  fairy-tale;  but  Morris  is  never  content  to 
make  a  fairy-tale  pure  and  simple.  Marvellous  ad- 
ventures told  directly  as  to  a  child  are  not  within 
his  method.  One  of  his  critics  has  described  The 
Water  of  the  IVoiuirous  Isles  as  a  three-volume 
novel  in  the  environment  of  a  fairy-tale,  and  the 
phrase  perfectly  characterises  it.  A  sentimental  at- 
mosphere surrounds  his  figures,  and  suggests  lan- 
guor and  soft  moods  not  to  be  tolerated  by  the 
writer  of  true  fairy-tales,  for  while  love  is  certainly 
not  alien  to  even  the  purest  type  of  the  latter,with 
its  witch  and  its  princess  and  its  cruel  step-mother 
and  rescuing  prince,  it  is  not  love  as  Morris  depicts 
it  any  more  than  it  is  love  as  Dante  or  Shakespeare 
depicts  it.  In  Morris's  stories  the  lovers  are  neither 
frankly  symbolic  creatures  of  the  imagination  whose 
loves  are  secondary  to  their  heroic  or  miraculous 
achievements,  and  who  apparently  exist  only  to  give 


246  Milliam  flDorrie. 

a  reason  for  the  machinery  of  witchcraft,  nor  are 
they,  like  the  lovers  of  the  great  novels,  endowed 
with  thoughtful  minds  and  spiritual  qualities.  They 
are  too  sophisticated  not  to  be  more  complex.  The 
modern  taste  is  unsympathetic  to  their  endless  kiss- 
ing and  ''fawning"  and  "clipping,"  nor  would  an- 
cient taste  have  welcomed  their  refinements  of 
kindness  toward  each  other  or  the  lack  of  zest  in 
their  adventures.  Morris  seems  to  have  tried  some- 
what, as  in  the  case  of  his  handicrafts,  to  start  with 
the  traditions  of  the  Middle  Ages  and  to  infuse  into 
them  a  modern  spirit  that  should  make  them  legiti- 
mate successors  and  not  mere  imitations  of  the 
well-beloved  mediasval  types.  That  he  did  not 
entirely  succeed  was  the  fault  not  so  much  of  his 
method  as  of  his  deficient  insight  into  human  na- 
ture. He  could  not  create  what  he  had  never 
closely  investigated. 

When  we  read  his  prose  romances,  their  frame- 
work gives  many  a  clue  to  their  ancestry,  but  it  is 
an  ancestry  so  remote  from  the  interest  of  the  gen- 
eral reader  as  to  puzzle  more  than  charm  in  its 
influence  upon  the  modern  product.  Iq  The  House 
of  the  IVolfings,  The  Roots  of  the  Mountains,  and 
especially  The  Glittering  Plain,  we  have  more  or 
less  modernised  sagas,  obviously  derived  from  the 
Icelandic  literature  of  which  he  had  been  drinking 
deep.  The  hero  of  The  Glittering  Plain  is  as  valor- 
ous a  youth  and  as  given  to  brave  adventures  as 
*  the  great  Sigurd,  the  environment  is  Norse,  and 


Xatcr  Mritincis.  247 

so  are  the  names  of  the  characters  —  Sea-eagle, 
Long-hoary,  Grey  Goose  of  the  Ravagers,  and  Puny 
Fox.  Other  words  and  phrases  also  drawn  from 
the  ''word-hoard"  of  the  Icelandic  tongue  are 
sprinkled  over  the  pages.  We  find  "  nithing- 
stake  "  and  byrny,  and  bight,  spoke-shave  and  ness 
and  watchet,  sley  and  ashlar  and  ghyll,  used  as 
expressions  of  familiar  parlance.  The  characters  give 
each  other  ''the  sele  of  the  day,"  retire  to  shut-beds 
at  night,  and  look  "sorry  and  sad  and  fell"  when 
fortune  goes  against  them.  They  wander  in  garths 
and  call  each  other  faring-fellow  and  they  yea-say 
and  nay-say  and  wot  and  wend.  It  is  not  alto- 
gether surprising  to  find  some  of  Morris's  most 
loyal  followers  admitting  that  they  can  make  no- 
thing of  books  written  in  this  archaic  prose. 

In  the  subsequent  romances  the  comparative 
sturdiness  imparted  by  the  writings  of  the  North 
gives  place  to  a  mildness  and  grace  suggestive  of 
those  early  French  romances  the  charm  of  which 
Morris  had  always  keenly  felt.  We  still  have  much 
the  same  vocabulary  and  more  or  less  use  of  the 
same  magic  arts,  "skin-changing"  holding  its  own 
as  a  favourite  method  of  overcoming  otherwise 
insuperable  difficulties;  but  we  have  more  of  the 
love  motive  and  a  clearer  endeavour  to  portray 
the  relations  of  the  characters  to  each  other.  In  all, 
however,  the  French  and  Scandinavian  influences 
are  so  mingled  with  each  other  and  with  the  ele- 
ment provided  by  Morris  alone,  and  so  fused  by 


248  William  riDorris. 

his  fluent  prolix  style,  as  to  produce  a  result  some- 
what different  from  anything  else  in  literature,  with 
a  character  and  interest  personal  to  itself,  and  diffi- 
cult to  imitate  in  essence,  although  wofully  lending 
itself  to  parody.  The  subject  never  seems  im- 
portant. There  is  no  sense  that  the  writer  was 
spurred  to  expression  by  the  pressure  of  an  irresist- 
ible message  or  sentiment.  We  feel  that  anything 
may  have  started  this  copious  flow  of  words,  and 
that  there  is  no  logical  end  to  them.  The  title  of 
The  Well  at  the  World's  End  was  taken  from  an 
old  Scottish  ballad  called  by  that  name  which  Morris 
had  never  read,  but  the  title  of  which  struck  his 
fancy,  and  the  book  reads  as  though  it  had  grown 
without  plan  from  the  fanciful,  meaningless  title. 

Of  these  later  romances.  The  Glittering  Plain 
is  the  most  saga-like,  and  The  Water  of  the  Won- 
drous Isles  is  most  permeated  by  the  romantic  spirit 
of  the  Arthurian  legends  and  their  kin.  Despite  all 
defects,  the  latter  has  a  bright  bejewelled  aspect  that 
pleases  the  fancy  although  it  does  not  deeply  enlist 
the  imagination.  The  story  is  leisurely  and  wander- 
ing. The  heroine,  Birdalone,  some  of  whose  char- 
acteristics have  already  been  mentioned,  is  stolen 
in  her  infancy  from  her  home  near  a  town  called 
Utterhay,  by  a  witch-wife  who  brings  her  up  on 
the  edge  of  a  wood  called  Evilshaw  and  teaches  her 
to  milk  and  plough  and  sow  and  reap  and  bake  and 
shoot  deer  in  the  forest.  When  she  is  seventeen 
years  of  age  she  meets  in  the  forest  Habundia,  a 


Xatcr  MntinGC>.  249 

fairy  woman,  who  gives  her  a  magic  ring  by  which 
she  may  make  herself  invisible  and  a  lock  of  hair 
by  burning  a  bit  of  which  she  may  summon  her 
in  time  of  need.  Birdalone  soon  after  escapes  from 
the  witch-wife  in  a  magic  boat,  and  passes  through 
fabulous  scenes  to  enchanted  islands,  where  she 
finds  friends  and  enemies.  Three  maidens,  Atra, 
Viridis,  and  Aurea,  save  her  from  the  latter,  and  send 
her  forth  to  find  for  them  their  lovers.  While  on 
her  quest  she  travels  to  various  isles,— the  Isle  of 
the  Young  and  the  Old,  the  Isle  of  the  Queens,  the 
Isle  of  the  Kings,  and  the  Isle  of  Nothing,—  which 
afford  opportunity  for  strange  pictures  and  quaint 
conceits  but  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  narrative. 
When  Birdalone  finds  the  lovers  of  her  friends,  the 
Golden  Knight,  the  Green  Knight,  and  Arthur  the 
Black  Squire,  called  the  Three  Champions,  they  are 
charmed  by  her  beauty  and  friendliness,  and  she 
immediately  falls  in  love  with  the  Black  Squire, 
betrothed  of  Atra.^  The  Black  Squire  returns  her 
prompt  affection,  but  has  grace  to  show  himself 
moody  and  downcast  at  the  thought  of  breaking 
faith  with  his  lady.  Presently  the  Three  Champions 
go  their  ways  to  find  the  three  maidens  who  were 
kind  to  Birdalone  and  who  are  kept  on  the  Isle  of 
Increase  Unsought  by  a  witch,  sister  to  Birdalone's 
early  guardian,  and  Birdalone,  weary  of  waiting  for 
their  return,  fares  forth  to  meet  adventures  and  lovers 

'  The  reader  here  is  expected  to  note  the  correspondence  between  the  names  of 
the  ladies  and  the  titles  of  their  lovers,  and  the  same  correspondence  is  carried  out 
in  the  colour  of  the  ladies'  garments  and  the  armour  of  the  knights. 


250  Milliam  flDorris^ 

in  plenty.  To  all  the  brave  knights  and  youths 
who  take  their  turn  at  wooing  her  she  is  pitiful  and 
gentle  after  her  fashion,  and  thanks  them  kindly, 
and  praises  them  and  suffers  them  to  kiss  her  for 
their  comfort,  and  deems  them  "fair  and  lovely  and 
sweet,"  but  keeps  her  preference  for  the  Black 
Squire.  Now,  when  the  Three  Champions  come 
back  with  their  ladies  and  find  Birdalone  fled  there 
is  much  distress  among  them,  and  the  knights  set 
forth  to  find  her.  Meeting  with  her,  they  are  set 
upon  by  the  bad  Red  Knight,  into  whose  custody 
she  has  recently  been  thrown,  and  Baudoin,  the 
Golden  Knight,  is  killed.  Returning  with  this  bad 
news  to  the  three  ladies,  the  two  remaining  knights, 
who  have  rescued  Birdalone  and  killed  the  Red 
Knight,  decide  to  ride  back  into  the  latter's  domain 
and  make  war  upon  his  followers.  In  the  mean- 
time Atra  has  learned  that  the  Black  Squire  has 
transferred  his  affections  from  her  to  Birdalone,  and 
does  not  attempt  to  dissemble  her  grief  thereat, 
none  of  Morris's  characters  being  gifted  in  the  art 
of  dissimulation,  particularly  where  love  is  concerned. 
Birdalone,  departing  from  the  course  which  Morris 
elsewhere  is  most  inclined  to  sanction,  decides  to 
renounce  in  Atra's  favour,  and  betakes  herself  to 
the  town  of  Greenford,  where  she  is  received  into 
the  broiderers'  guild  and  works  with  a  woman  who 
turns  out  to  be  her  own  mother,  from  whom  she 
was  stolen  by  the  witch.  With  her  she  lives  for 
five  years,  when  sickness  slays  Audrey,  the  mother, 


Xatcr  Mritincje.  251 

and  Birdalone  can  no  longer  resist  the  temptation 
to  seek  her  love,  the  Black  Squire,  again.  So  she 
makes  her  way  once  more  through  marvellous  ad- 
ventures into  the  old  forest  of  Evilshaw,  where  she 
comes  again  upon  her  fairy  friend  Habundia,  by 
whose  aid  she  finds  the  Black  Squire.  The  latter 
has  met  with  misfortunes  and  is  lost  in  the  forest, 
where  he  falls  ill.  Birdalone  nurses  him  back  to 
health,  and  they  decide  that  whether  Atra  be  dead 
or  alive  they  will  have  no  more  parting  from  one 
another.  They  are  soon  to  be  put  to  the  test,  as  in 
the  wood  they  come  upon  Atra  and  their  other 
friends,  who  have  set  out  to  seek  them,  being  anx- 
ious for  their  welfare,  and  who  have  been  overcome 
by  caitiffs  and  bound  and  held  prisoners.  Arthur 
and  Birdalone  rescue  them,  and  all  these  friends  make 
up  their  minds  to  go  together  and  dwell  in  Utter- 
hay  for  the  rest  of  their  lives.  Aurea  finds  another 
lover  in  place  of  the  Golden  Knight  she  has  lost, 
but  Atra  is  faithful  in  heart  to  the  Black  Squire, 
though  able  to  bear  with  philosophy  his  union  with 
Birdalone.  Thus  they  live  happily  ever  after.  Upon 
this  skeleton  of  mingled  reality  and  dream  Morris 
built  his  general  idea  of  happy  love.  The  tale  might 
easily  be  twisted  into  an  allegory,  since  all  the 
creatures  of  his  imagination  stand  for  either  the 
satisfactions  or  dissatisfactions  of  the  visible  world, 
but  nothing  is  more  certain  than  that  he  meant 
no  such  interpretations  to  be  put  upon  it.  When 
one  of  his  critics  assumed  an  allecforical  intention 


252  William  nDorrl0, 

in  the  story  called  The  Wood  Beyond  the  World, 
he  was  moved  to  public  refutation,  writing  to  the 
Spectator :  "  It  is  meant  to  be  a  tale  pure  and  simple, 
with  nothing  didactic  about  it.  If  1  have  to  write 
or  speak  on  social  problems,  1  always  try  to  be  as 
direct  as  I  possibly  can."  The  truth  of  this  is  best 
known  by  those  who  most  faithfully  have  followed 
his  writings,  and  it  is  entirely  vain  to  try  to  squeeze 
from  his  "tales"  any  ethical  virtue  beyond  their 
frank  expression  of  his  singularly  simple  tempera- 
ment. Nevertheless,  like  the  rest  of  his  work,  they 
reveal  in  some  degree  his  way  of  regarding  the 
moral  world.  As  we  have  seen,  Birdalone  has  her 
impulse  toward  renunciation,  and  for  a  brief  interval 
one  feels  that  the  story  possibly  may  be  allowed  to 
run  along  the  conventional  lines  laid  down  by  the 
civilised  human  race  for  the  greatest  good  of  the 
greatest  number.  This,  however,  would  have  been 
wholly  alien  to  the  writer's  temper,  and  there  is 
no  shock  to  those  familiar  with  this  temper  in  find- 
ing that  in  the  end  the  hero  and  heroine  eat  their 
cake  and  have  it.  Renunciation  on  the  side  of  the 
unbeloved  is  effected  with  grace  and  nobility,  but 
it  is  made  clear  that  it  is  a  question  of  accepting 
the  inevitable  in  as  lofty  a  spirit  as  possible.  It  is 
perhaps  the  most  obvious  moral  characteristic  of 
Morris's  types  in  general,  that  they  are  no  more 
prone  than  children  to  do  what  they  dislike  unless 
circumstance  forces  them  to  it.  If  we  were  to  argue 
from  his  romances  alone  we  could  almost  imagine 


Xatcr  Mritings.  253 

him  contending  that  what  one  dislikes  in  conduct 
is  wrong,  just  as  he  did  contend  that  what  one 
dislikes  in  art  is  bad.  But  if  his  men  and  women 
do  not  willingly  renounce,  at  least  they  do  not  exult. 
The  sight  of  unhappiness  pains  them.  For  stern 
self-denial  he  substitutes  the  softer  virtues  of  amia- 
bility and  sweetness  of  temper.  A  high  level  of 
kindliness  and  tenderness  takes  the  place  of  more 
compelling  and  formidable  emotions.  "  Kind,"  in- 
deed, is  one  of  the  adjectives  of  which  one  soonest 
wearies  when  confined  to  his  vocabulary,  and  "dear," 
is  another.  We  read  of  ''dear  feet  and  legs,"  of 
dear  and  kind  kisses,  of  kind  wheedling  looks,  of 
kind  and  dear  maidens,  and  dear  and  kind  lads,  and 
everyone  is  kind  and  dear  who  is  not  evil  and  cruel. 
What  Morris's  romances  preach,  if  they  preach  any- 
thing, is  :  that  we  should  get  from  life  all  the  enjoy- 
ment possible,  hurting  others  as  little  as  may  be 
consistent  with  our  own  happiness,  but  claiming 
the  satisfaction  of  all  honest  desires;  that,  in  thus 
satisfying  ourselves,  we  should  keep  toward  those 
about  us  a  kind  and  pleasant  countenance  and  a 
consideration  for  their  pain  even  when  our  duty 
toward  ourselves  forces  us  to  inflict  it.  it  is  a  nar- 
row and  exclusive  teaching,  and  ill  adapted  to  foster 
freedom  of  mind  and  spirit.  It  is  a  teaching  that 
provides  no  breastplate  for  the  buffets  of  fortune, 
and  sets  before  one  no  ideal  of  intellectual  or  spiritual 
life  the  attainment  of  which  would  bring  pleasure 
austere  and   exquisite.     There  is   no  stimulus  and 


254  Milliam  fIDorris, 

no  sting  in  the  love  depicted.  Even  its  ardour  is 
checked  and  wasted  by  its  dallying  with  the  external 
charms  that  seem  to  veil  rather  than  to  reveal  the 
spirit  within  the  flesh.  It  is  the  essence  of  imma- 
turity. But  while  we  gain  from  the  observation  of 
Morris's  childlike  characters,  playing  in  a  world 
that  knows  no  conventions  and  consequently  no 
shame,  a  foreboding  of  the  weariness  that  would 
attend  such  a  life  as  he  plans  for  them,  we  are  con- 
scious also  that  he  is  trying  characteristically,  to  go 
back  to  the  beginning,  and  to  start  humanity  aright 
and  afresh  ;  to  show  us  fine  and  healthy  sons  of 
Adam  and  daughters  of  Eve,  'Miving,"  to  use  his 
own  words,  ''in  the  enjoyment  of  animal  life  at 
least,  happy  therefore,  and  beautiful  according  to 
the  beauty  of  their  race."  He  sets  them  among  the 
surroundings  he  loves,  gives  them  the  education 
he  values,  and  leaves  them  with  us  —  the  blithe 
children  of  a  new  world,  whose  maturity  he  is 
content  not  to  forecast.  With  such  health  of  body, 
he  seems  to  say,  and  such  innocence  of  heart,  what 
noble  commonwealth  may  not  arise,  what  glory 
may  not  enter  into  civilisation  ? 


'^^'^'^^^^^^^^m'^^y^^^^^^' 


CHAPTER    XII. 
THE   END. 


THE  end  with  Morris  seemed  to  come  sud- 
denly, although  for  months  and  even  for 
years  there  had  been  warnings  of  its  ap- 
proach. He  had  enjoyed  —  and  greatly  enjoyed  — 
unusual  strength  and  vitality  up  to  almost  his 
sixtieth  year.  The  seeds  of  gout  were  in  his  con- 
stitution, and  from  attacks  of  this  disease  he  occa- 
sionally suffered,  but  not  until  the  one  occurring  in 
the  spring  of  1891,  just  as  the  Kelmscott  Press  was 
getting  under  way,  did  they  give  reason  for  alarm. 
At  that  time  other  complications  were  discovered 
and  he  was  told  that  he  must  consider  himself  nn 
invalid.  After  this,  as  we  have  seen,  he  plunged 
with  rapture  into  new  undertakings  involving  the 
use  of  all  his  faculties,  and  carried  them  on  with 
no  apparent  lessening  of  intellectual  vigour.  But  he 
had  too  long  overtaxed  his  physical  frame  by  his 
extraordinary  labours,  and  especially  by  his  activity 
in  the  cause  of  Socialism,  which  had  led  him  out  in 
all  weathers  and  under  the  most  adverse  conditions. 


255 


256  Milliam  riDorne. 

By  the  beginning  of  1895  he  began  to  show  plainly 
the  weakness  that  had  been  gaining  on  him,  and  to 
admit  it,  though  still  keeping  busy  at  his  various 
occupations.  His  increasing  illness  brought  home 
to  him  the  thought  of  that  final  check  upon  his 
activities  which  he  had  always  found  so  difficult  to 
conceive.  '' If,"  he  said,  "it  merely  means  that  1 
am  to  be  laid  up  for  a  little  while,  it  does  n't  so 
much  matter,  you  know;  but  if  1  am  to  be  caged 
up  here  for  months,  and  then  it  is  to  be  the  end 
of  all  things,  1  should  n't  like  it  at  all.  This  has 
been  a  jolly  world  to  me  and  1  find  plenty  to  do 
in  it." 

As  the  folio  Chaucer  advanced  through  the  Press, 
he  grew  impatient,  no  doubt  fearing  that  he  would 
not  see  its  completion,  and  it  is  pleasant  to  read 
of  his  gratification  when  a  completed  copy  reached 
him,  bound  in  the  cover  designed  by  himself.  Late 
in  July,  1896,  by  the  recommendation  of  his  physi- 
cian he  took  a  sea  voyage,  going  to  Norway  for 
the  bracing  influences  of  its  air  and  associations. 
No  benefit  was  gained,  however,  and  on  his  return 
a  congestion  of  one  lung  set  in  that  proved- un- 
yielding, while  his  general  weakness  was  such  that 
he  was  unable  to  cross  the  threshold  of  his  room. 
We  find  him  responding  to  an  old  friend  who  had 
urged  him  to  try  the  effect  of  the  pure  air  of  Swains- 
low,  that  this  was  the  case  and  he  could  not 
come,  but  was  ''absolutely  delighted  to  find  another 
beautiful  place  which  is  still  in  its  untouched  loveli- 


Z\)c  lenb.  257 

ness."  Up  to  the  last  he  did  a  little  work,  dictating 
the  final  passage  of  The  Siindcriiiii:  Flood  less  than 
a  month  before  his  death,  which  occurred  in  his 
home  at  Hammersmith  on  the  morning  of  the  3rd 
of  October,  1896.  He  died  without  apparent  suffer- 
ing, and  surrounded  by  his  friends.  He  had  lived 
almost  sixty -three  years  in  the  "jolly  world" 
wherein  he  had  found  so  much  to  do,  but  he  left 
the  impression  of  having  been  cut  down  in  the 
flower  of  his  life. 

His  burial  was  in  keeping  with  those  tastes  and 
preferences  that  had  meant  so  much  to  him.  The 
strong  oak  coffin  in  which  he  was  laid  was  of  an 
ancient,  simple  shape,  with  handles  of  wrought  iron, 
and  the  pall  that  covered  it  was  a  strip  of  rich 
Anatolian  velvet  from  his  own  collection  of  textiles. 
He  was  carried  from  Lechlade  station  to  the  little 
Kelmscott  church  in  an  open  hay-cart,  cheerful  in 
colour,  with  bright  red  wheels,  and  festooned  with 
vines,  alder,  and  bulrushes.  The  bearers  and  the 
drivers  of  the  country  waggons  in  which  his  friends 
followed  him  to  his  grave  were  farmers  of  the 
neighbourhood  clad  in  their  moleskins,  people  who 
had  lost,  said  one  of  them,  *'a  dear  good  friend  in 
Master  Morris."  The  hearse,  with  its  bright  decora- 
tions and  the  little  group  of  mourners  wound  their 
way  along  pleasant  country  roads,  beaten  upon  by 
a  storm  of  unusual  fury.  "The  north-west  wind 
bent  trees  and  bushes,"  writes  one  of  those  who 
were  present,  "turning  the  leaves  of  the  bird  maples 


17 


258  HClilliam  riDoriie, 

back  upon  their  footstalks,  making  them  look  like 
poplars,  and  the  rain  beat  on  the  straggling  hedges, 
the  lurid  fruit,  such  as  only  grows  in  rural  England, 
—  the  fruit  of  privet  with  ripe  hips  and  haws;  the 
foliage  of  the  Guelder  roses  hung  on  the  bushes; 
along  the  road  a  line  of  slabs  of  stone  extended, 
reminding  one  of  Portugal;  ragweed  and  loosestrife, 
with  rank  hemp  agrimony,  were  standing  dry  and 
dead,  like  reeds  beside  a  lake,  and  in  the  rain  and 
wind  the  yokels  stood  at  the  cross-roads,  or  at  the 
openings  of  the  bridle-paths." 

In  News  from  Nowhere  Morris  describes  Kelmscott 
Church,  with  its  little  aisle  divided  from  the  nave  by 
three  round  arches,  its  windows,  "  mostly  of  the 
graceful  Oxfordshire  fourteenth-century  type,"  and 
the  interior  trimmed  with  flowers  for  a  village  merry- 
making. On  the  day  of  his  burial,  by  a  curious  co- 
incidence it  was  trimmed  with  fruits  of  the  harvest 
in  preparation  for  the  autumn  festival.  The  service 
was  read  by  an  old  schoolfellow  and  friend,  and 
Morris  was  left  to  his  rest  "  from  patience  and  from 
pain  "  in  the  place  he  had  best  loved  and  to  which  in 
his  final  weakness  he  had  longed  to  return. 

In  regarding  Morris  through  the  medium  of  his 
work  it  is  difficult  to  gain  a  coherent  impression. 
He  turned  one  side  and  another  to  the  world  with 
such  rapidity  of  succession  as  to  give  a  sense 
of  kaleidoscopic  change.  What  new  combination 
of  colour  and  form  his  activities  would  take  was 
always  impossible  to  forecast.    And  the  thing  that 


ITbc  len^  259 

he  was  doing  seemed  to  him  at  the  time  the  one 
thing  in  the  world  that  was  worth  doing,  the  one 
thing  that  "  a  reasonable  and  healthy  man  "  would 
make  it  his  pleasure  to  do.  Yet,  as  we  have  seen, 
all  these  pursuits  taken  up  by  him  with  so  much  zest 
and  laid  down  by  him  with  such  suddenness,  fitted 
harmoniously  and  accurately  into  the  plan  of  his  life, 
which,  with  the  decade  of  militant  Socialism  deducted, 
presented  a  smooth  and  even  surface,  unbroken  by  any 
violent  change  of  circumstance  or  method  or  motive. 
He  has  been  described  by  nearly  all  who  have  written 
of  him  as  "  a  rebel,"  and  a  rebel  he  was  in  the  true 
Quixotic  sense,  his  lance  in  rest  to  charge  at  any  mo- 
ment against  any  windmill  of  convention  that  might 
offend  him.  A  friend  who  was  once  talking  with  him 
about  a  forthcoming  election  to  the  London  School 
Board,  expressing  a  hope  that  the  progressive  party 
would  win, — "Well,"  said  Morris,  striding  up  and 
down,  "  I  am  not  sure  that  a  clerical  victory  would  not 
be  a  good  thing.  I  was  educated  at  Marlborough  under 
clerical  masters,  and  I  naturally  rebelled  against  them. 
Had  they  been  advanced  men,  my  spirit  of  rebellion 
would  probably  have  led  me  to  conservatism  merely  as 
a  protest.  One  naturally  defies  authority,  and  it  may 
be  well  that  the  London  School  Board  should  be 
controlled  by  Anglican  parsons,  in  order  that  the 
young  rebels  in  the  schools  may  grow  up  to  defy  and 
hate  church  authority."  His  own  "natural"  defi- 
ance of  authority  entailed  what  seems  to  the  ordinary 
toiler  in  harness  a  waste  of  his  extraordinary  gifts. 


26o  Milliam  riDorrie. 

His  work  was  most  of  it  in  the  experimental  stage 
when  he  left  it.  He  was  too  content  to  point  the 
road  without  following  to  the  end  his  own  direction. 
"  He  did  not  learn  a  trade  in  the  natural  way,  from 
those  who  knew,  and  seek  then  to  better  the  teach- 
ing of  his  masters,"  says  one  of  his  fellow-workers 
in  arts  and  crafts,  "  but,  acknowledging  no  master, 
except  perhaps  the  ancients,  he  would  worry  it  out 
always  for  himself.  He  had  a  wonderful  knack  of 
learning  that  way."^  He  had  a  wonderful  knack  also 
of  persuading  himself  that  there  was  no  other  to 
learn,  and  Goldsmith's  criticism  of  Burke  — that  he 
spent  much  of  his  time  "cutting  blocks  with  a 
razor  "  —  has  been  happily  applied  to  him.  But  it  is 
doubtful  whether  he  would  have  made  as  strong  an 
impression  on  his  generation  as  he  did  if  he  had 
devoted  his  time  to  one  branch  of  art  and  worked 
along  conventional  lines.  His  greatest  gift  was  not 
so  much  the  ability  to  produce  art,  artistic  though  he 
was  in  faculty  and  feeling,  as  it  was  the  ability  to 
make  people  see  the  difference  between  the  kind  of 
beauty  to  which  his  eyes  were  open  and  the  ugliness 
commonly  preferred  to  it.  Nothing  is  so  convincing 
as  to  see  a  man  accomplish  with  his  own  hands  what 
he  has  declared  possible  for  anyone  to  accomplish. 
Morris's  continual  illustration  of  his  theories  was  per- 
haps more  useful  in  awakening  interest  in  just  the  mat- 
ters which  he  had  at  heart  than  any  more  patient 
pursuit  of  an  ideal  less  readily  achieved.  He  had  the 
habit  when  listening  to  questions  and  criticisms  after 

'  Lewis  F.  Day. 


Zbc  iBut).  261 

his  lectures  of  tracing  charming  rapid  designs  on 
paper.  On  a  large  scale  that  is  what  he  did  through- 
out his  life:  lecture  people  about  the  way  to  make 
things,  and  by  way  of  proving  his  point,  turn  off 
delightful  examples  of  the  things  he  describes.  "  It 
is  very  easy"  he  seems  to  say;  "watch  me  for  a 
moment,  and  we  will  then  pass  on." 

Considered  superficially,  he  appeared  the  very 
prince  of  paradox.  Art  was  a  word  continually  on  his 
lips,  the  future  and  fortunes  of  art  were  constantly  in 
his  mind,  yet  for  the  greatest  art  of  the  world  he  had 
few  words,  and  the  most  passing  interest.  The 
names  of  Raphael  and  Leonardo,  Giotto,  Durer, 
Rembrandt,  Velasquez,  were  seldom  if  ever  on  his 
lips.  Art  had  for  him  an  almost  single  meaning, 
namely,  the  beauty  produced  by  humble  workers  as 
an  every-day  occurrence  and  for  every  day's  enjoy- 
ment, art  by  the  people  and  for  the  people.  So 
individual  that  he  will  never  be  forgotten  by  those 
who  have  once  seen  him  and  heard  his  voice  raised 
in  its  inevitable  protest,  he  nevertheless  preached  a 
kind  of  communism  in  which  any  high  degree  of 
individuality  must  have  been  submerged. 

His  preferences  among  books,  as  might  be  assumed, 
were  clearly  marked,  and  a  list  of  his  favourite  authors 
contains  many  contrasts.  Once  asked  to  contribute 
to  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  his  opinions  on  "  the  best 
hundred  books,"  he  complied  by  naming  those 
which,  he  said,  had  most  profoundly  impressed  him, 
excluding  all  which  he  considered  merely  as  tools 


262  Milllam  riDorrie, 

and  not  as  works  of  art.  True  to  himself,  he  starts 
the  list  with  books  "of  the  kind  Mazzini  calls 
Bibles,"  books  which  are  "  in  no  sense  the  work  of 
individuals,  but  have  grown  up  from  the  very  hearts 
of  the  people."  Amongthese  are  "the  Hebrew  Bible 
(excluding  some  twice-done  parts  and  some  pieces 
of  mere  Jewish  ecclesiasticism),  Homer,  Hesiod, 
The  Edda  (including  some  of  the  other  early  old 
Norse  romantic  genealogical  poems),  Beowulf, 
Kjlevale,  Shahuameh,  Mahabharata,  collections  of 
folk  tales  headed  by  Grimm  and  the  Norse  ones, 
Irish  and  Welsh  traditional  poems." 

After  these  "Bibles"  follow  the  ''real  ancient 
imaginative  works  :  Herodotus,  Plato,  y^schylus, 
Sophocles,  Aristophanes,  Theocritus,  Lucretius,  Catul- 
lus." The  greater  part  of  the  Latins  were  esteemed 
''sham  classics."  "1  suppose,"  says  Morris  in  his 
character  of  reasonable  man,  "that  they  have  some 
good  literary  qualities;  but  I  cannot  help  thinking 
that  it  is  difficult  to  find  out  how  much.  1  suspect 
superstition  and  authority  have  influenced  our  esti- 
mate of  them  till  it  has  become  a  mere  matter  of 
convention.  Of  course  I  admit  the  archieological 
value  of  some  of  them,  especially  Virgil  ^nd  Ovid.'' 

Next  in  importance  to  the  Latin  masterpieces  he 
puts  mediaeval  poetry,  Anglo-Saxon  lyrical  pieces 
(like  the  Ruin  and  the  Exile),  Dante,  Chaucer,  Piers 
Plowman,  Nibelungenlied,  the  Danish  and  Scotch- 
English  Border  Ballads,  Omar  Khayyam,  "though  1 
don't  know  how  much  of  the  charm  of  this  lovely 


Zbc  £nb.  263 

poem,"  he  says,  "is  due  to  Fitzgerald,  the  trans- 
lator"; other  Arab  and  Persian  poetry,  Rcyiuud 
the  Fox,  and  a  few  of  the  best  rhymed  romances. 
Medieval  story  books  follow,  the  Morte  d' Arthur, 
The  Thousand  and  One  Nights,  Boccaccio's  Decame- 
ron, and  the  Mabi notion.  After  these,  "modern 
poets"  up  to  his  own  generation,  "Shakespeare, 
Blake  (the  part  of  him  which  a  mortal  can  under- 
stand), Coleridge,  Shelley,  Keats,  Byron."  German 
he  could  not  read,  so  he  left  out  German  master- 
pieces. Milton  he  left  out  on  account  of  his  union 
of  "cold  classicalism  with  Puritanism"  ("the  two 
things  which  I  hate  most  in  the  world,"  he  said). 

Pilgrim's  Progress  heads  the  department  of  modern 
fiction,  in  which  is  also  included  Robinson  Crusoe, 
Moll  Flanders,  Colonel  Jack,  Captain  Singleton,  Voy- 
age Round  the  World,  Scott's  novels,  "except  the 
one  or  two  which  he  wrote  when  he  was  hardly 
alive,"  the  novels  of  the  elder  Dumas  (the  "good" 
ones),  Victor  Hugo,  Dickens,  and  George  Borrow. 
The  list  concludes  with  certain  unclassified  works, 
Ruskin,  Carlyle,  the  Utopia,  and  Grimm's  Teutonic 
Mythologv.  It  may  safely  be  assumed  that  no  other 
list  sent  in  by  the  "best  judges"  who  responded  to 
Mr.  Stead's  request  in  the  least  resembled  this  one, 
which  was  compiled  with  high  sincerity  and  repre- 
sented Morris  quite  fairly  on  the  bookish  side  of  his 
mind.  Mr.  Mackail  mentions  also  among  the  vol- 
umes oftenest  in  his  hands  and  "imposed  upon  his 
friends  untlinchingly  "  Surtees's  f:mious  Mr.  Jor rocks, 


264  Milliam  flDorrie* 

and  records  that  he  considered  Huckleberry  Finn 
America's  masterpiece.  For  the  Uncle  Remus  stories 
he  had  also  a  peculiar  fondness,  and  for  one  of  his 
cotton  prints  he  designed  what  he  called  a  "Brer 
Rabbit  pattern." 

The  perversity  that  one  marks  in  Morris  beneath 
—  or,  perhaps,  on  the  surface  of — his  essential  seri- 
ousness, the  tendency  to  whim  and  paradox  so  freely 
noted  by  his  critics,  may  be  attributed  to  his  extra- 
ordinarily childlike  spirit.  His  lack  of  restraint,  his 
dislike  of  subtlety,  his  love  of  spontaneity,  his  in- 
ability to  conform  to  conventions,  his  hatred  of  gloom, 
austerity,  and  introspection,  his  readiness  to  throw 
himself  into  enjoyment  of  the  smallest  subject  that 
happened  to  come  within  the  range  of  his  interest, 
his  unflagging  vigour,  his  unjaded  humour,  all  quali- 
ties copiously  commented  upon  by  his  friends,  testify 
to  the  youthfulness  of  his  temperament,  which  was 
like  that  of  a  child,  also  in  a  certain  apparently  un- 
premeditated reticence,  an  inability  to  reveal  itself 
fully  or  satisfactorily  to  even  his  closest  intimates. 
What  is  most  attractive  and  appealing  in  him  is 
doubtless  due  to  his  freedom  from  artificialities  and 
from  the  sophistries  that  ordinarily  come  with  age, 
but  what  is  noblest  in  him,  and  most  impressive  in 
the  effect  produced  by  his  accomplishment,  is  due  to 
a  quality  of  which  a  child  is  and  should  be  ignorant, 
a  sense  of  personal  responsibility.  Without  this  he 
would  have  been  a  pitiful  figure,  disoriented,  and  in- 
harmonious with  the  world  into  which  he  was  born. 


Zbc  JEn'O.  265 

It  was  his  persistent  unwearyiiif^  effort  to  set  the 
crooked  straight  by  example  as  well  as  by  precept, 
and  in  defiance  of  a  certain  paradoxical  mental  lan- 
guor that  flowed  by  the  side  of  his  energy  and  im- 
pulse, which  made  him  an  influence  to  be  counted 
with  among  the  many  conflicting  influences  of  his 
generation.  While  he  counselled  he  produced,  while 
he  preached  he  laboured.  Declaring  that  work  could 
and  should  be  lovely,  he  demonstrated  in  his  own 
life  how  intensely  one  man  loved  it.  He  fought  for 
the  principle  of  art  with  the  ardour  other  men  have 
shown  in  fighting  for  the  principle  of  political  liberty. 
He  held  himself  bound  to  justify  his  theories  in  his 
own  action,  and  while  it  would  be  absurd  to  claim 
for  him  complete  consistency  and  freedom  from  error 
in  even  this,  it  certainly  guided  him  safely  past  the 
quicksands  of  empty  and  inflated  rhetoric  by  which 
the  expressed  philosophy  of  his  own  great  masters  is 
marred.  It  will  be  remembered  by  those  who  share 
his  admiration  for  Dickens  that  when  the  proprietor 
of  Dotheboys  Hall  wished  to  teach  his  pupils  to  spell 
''window"  he  had  them  clean  one.  The  effective- 
ness of  such  a  method  is  deeper  than  the  satire,  and 
Morris  was  its  most  convincing  exponent.  What  he 
learned  out  of  books  he  tried  at  once  to  put  into 
practice.     He  had  the  highest  ideal  of  service: 

How  crown  ye  excellence  of  v/orth? 
With  leave  to  serve  all  men  on  earth, 

and  nothing  deflected  him  from  his  efforts  thus  to 


266  MilUam  riDorrls, 

serve  in  his  own  person  the  most  crying  needs  of 
humanity  as  he  conceived  them. 

Pretentiousness  was  his  least  defect.  No  prig- 
gish sense  of  virtue  interfered  with  his  consecration 
to  what  he  believed  were  the  highest  interests  of  his 
fellow-men.  The  cant  of  the  moralist  was  abso- 
lutely unused  by  him,  and  he  was  innocent  of  any 
intention  to  improve  the  morals  of  his  companions. 
Get  them  happy,  he  thought,  with  a  faith  little  less 
than  magnificent,  get  them  happy  and  they  will  be 
good.  Nor  was  he  guilty  of  aesthetic  priggishness. 
Art  was  the  concern  of  his  mind  and  the  desire  of  his 
heart,  but  it  was  by  no  means  his  meat  and  drink. 
He  liked  good  food,  and  was  proud  of  his  connois- 
seurship  in  matters  of  cookery,  and  wines.  Few 
things  pleased  him  better  than  himself  to  take  the 
cook's  place  and  prove  his  practical  skill.  When 
asked  for  his  opinions  on  the  subject  of  temperance, 
he  replied  that  so  far  as  his  own  experience  went  he 
found  his  victuals  dull  without  something  to  drink, 
and  that  tea  and  coffee  were  not  fit  liquors  to  be 
taken  with  food.  He  smoked  his  briarwood  pipe 
with  much  satisfaction.  In  his  daily  habits  he  was 
thoroughly,  aggressively  human,  and  in  nothing  more 
so  than  in  his  candid  admiration  of  the  work  of  his 
own  hands,  a  feeling  in  which  there  was  no  fatuity. 

His  biographer  comments  on  the  singular  element 
of  impersonality  in  his  nature,  speaking  of  him  as 
moving  among  men  and  women  "  isolated,  self-cen- 
tred, almost  empty  of  love  or  hatred,"  and  quotes 


Zbc  i£n^  267 

his  most  intimate  friend's  extreme  statement  tliat 
he  lived  "absolutely  without  the  need  of  man  or 
woman."  In  this  idea  of  him  those  who  knew  him 
best  seemed  to  agree,  but  from  his  own  letters  as 
represented  in  the  biography,  a  stranger  to  him  gains 
a  different  impression.  His  letters  to  his  invalid 
daughter  are  in  themselves  sufficient  to  evoke  in  the 
mind  of  the  reader  an  image  of  unlimited  and  poig- 
nant tenderness  impossible  to  associate  with  the 
aloofness  and  lack  of  keen  personal  sympathy  said 
to  be  characteristic  of  him.  He  did  not  give  himself 
readily  or  rashly  to  intense  feelings;  but  he  seemed 
to  feel  within  himself  capacity  for  emotions  of  force 
so  violent  as  to  be  destructive.  When  his  friend 
Faulkner  was  stricken  with  paralysis  and  other  trouble 
came  upon  the  f:imily,  we  find  him  writing:  "It  is 
such  a  grievous  business  altogether  that,  rightly  or 
wrongly,  1  try  not  to  think  of  it  too  much  lest  1 
should  give  way  altogether,  and  make  an  end  of  what 
small  use  there  may  be  in  my  life."  Leaving  out  the 
case  of  Rossetti,  there  is  no  record  of  his  having  re- 
linquished any  friendship  of  importance,  nor  did  he 
weary  of  constant  intercourse  with  his  friends.  His 
habit  of  breakfasting  with  Burne-Jones  on  Sunday 
mornings  and  dining  with  him  on  Wednesdays  was 
unbroken  for  many  years.  "  The  last  three  Sundays 
of  his  life,"  says  this  oldest  and  closest  friend,  "1 
went  to  him." 

Loyalty,  sincerity,   simplicity,   and  earnestness, 
these  are  the  qualities  conspicuous  in  the  f:ibric  of  his 


268 


Milllam  riDorrie. 


life.  His  influence  upon  his  generation,  so  far  as  it 
may  now  be  observed,  has  been  definite  but  diffused. 
It  may  be  doubted  whether  he  would  not  have  been 
best  pleased  to  have  it  so,  to  know  that  his  name 
will  live  chiefly  as  that  of  one  who  stimulated  others 
toward  art  production  of  and  interest  in  beautiful 
handiwork.  But  the  last  word  to  be  said  about  him 
is  that  he  was  greater  than  his  work. 


U'  C-J 


^|&|2®i.-.s, '  ."/A".  '■  r^^.'no 


BIBLIOGRAPHY' 

I.  The  Story  of  the  Glittering  Plain.  Which  has  been  also 
called  The  Laud  of  Living  Men  or  The  Acre  of  the  Undving. 
Written  by  William  Morris.  Small  4to.  Golden  type.  Border 
1.  200  paper  copies  at  two  guineas,  and  6  on  vellum.  Dated 
April  4,  issued  May  8,  1891.  Sold  by  Reeves  &  Turner. 
Bound  in  stiff  vellum  with  wash  leather  ties.* 

This  book  was  set  up  from  Nos.  81-84  of  The  English  Illustrated  Magazine,  in 
which  it  first  appeared;  some  of  the  chapter  headings  were  rearranged,  and  a  few  small 
corrections  were  made  in  the  text.  A  trial  page,  the  first  printed  at  the  Kelmscott  Press, 
was  struck  off  on  January  31,  1891,  but  the  first  sheet  was  not  printed  until  about  a 
month  later.''  The  border  was  designed  in  January  of  the  same  year,  and  engraved  by 
W.  H.  Hooper.  Mr.  Morris  had  four  of  the  vellum  copies  bound  in  green  vellum,  three 
of  which  he  gave  to  friends.  Only  two  copies  on  vellum  were  sold,  at  twelve  and 
fifteen  guineas.  This  was  the  only  book  with  wash  leather  ties.  All  the  other 
vellum  bound  books  have  silk  ties,  except  Shelley's  Poems  and  Hand  and  Soul, 
which  have  no  ties. 

2.  Poems  by  the  Way.  Written  by  William  Morris.  Small 
4to.  Golden  type.  In  black  and  red.  Border  i.  ^00  paper 
copies  at  two  guineas,  thirteen  on  vellum  at  about  twelve 
guineas.  Dated  September  24,  issued  October  20,  1891.  Sold 
by  Reeves  &  Turner.     Bound  in  stiff  vellum. 

This  was  the  first  book  printed  at  the  Kelmscott  Press  in  two  colours,  and  the 
first  book  in  which  the  smaller  printer's  mark  appeared.  After  The  Glittering  Plain 
was  finished,  at  the  beginning  of  April,  no  printing  was  done  until  May  1  ith.  In  the 
meanwhile  the  compositors  were  busy  setting  up  the  early  sheets  of  The  Golden 


'  This  bibliography  is  reprinted,  with  certain  slight  additions,  from  the 
bibliography  prepared  by  S.  C.  Cockerell  for  the  monograph  entitled,  "A  Note 
by  William  Morris  on  his  Aims  in  Founding  the  Kelmscott  Press." 

"^  At  the  Ellis  Sale  (iQOi)  a  presentation  vellum  copy  brought  £\  14. 

3  The  first  sheet  was  printed  on  the  2d  of  March,  the  last  on  the  4th  of  April. 

269 


270  IRIlilliam  riDorris. 

Legend.  The  printing  of  Poems  by  the  IVay,  which  its  author  first  thought  of 
calling  Flores  /Itramenti,  was  not  begun  until  July.  The  poems  in  it  were  writ- 
ten at  various  times.  In  the  manuscript,  Ha/burg  and  Signy  is  dated  February  4, 
1870;  Hildebrand  and  Hillilel,  March  i,  1H71;  and  Love's  Reward,  Kelmscott, 
April  21,  1871.  Meeting  in  IVinter  \s  a.  song  ixom  The  Story  of  Orpheus  an  un- 
published poem  intended  for  the  Earthly  Paradise.  The  last  poem  in  the  book, 
Goldilocks  and  Goldilooks,  was  written  on  May  20,  1891,  for  the  purpose  of  adding 
to  the  bulk  of  the  volume,  which  was  then  being  prepared.  A  few  of  the  vellum 
covers  were  stained  at  Merton  red,  yellow,  indigo,  and  dark  green,  but  the  experi- 
ment was  not  successful.' 

3.  The  Love-Lyrics  and  Songs  of  Proteus,  by  Wilfrid  Sea- 
wen  Blunt,  with  the  Love  Sonnets  of  Proteus,  by  the  same  author, 
now  reprinted  in  their  full  text  with  many  sonnets  omitted  from 
the  earlier  editions.  London,  MDCCCXCII.  Small  410.  Golden 
type.  In  black  and  red.  Border  1.  300  paper  copies  at  two 
guineas,  none  on  vellum.  Dated  January  26,  issued  February 
27,  1892.     Sold  by  Reeves  &  Turner.     Bound  in  stiff  vellum. 

This  is  the  only  book  in  which  the  initials  are  printed  in  red.  This  was  done 
by  the  author's  wish. 

4.  The  'Nature  of  Gothic,  a  Chapter  of  the  Stones  of  Ven- 
ice. By  John  Ruskin.  With  a  preface  by  William  Morris.  Small 
4to.  Golden  type.  Border  i.  Diagrams  in  text.  500  paper 
copies  at  thirty  shillings,  none  on  vellum.  Dated  in  preface, 
February  15,  issued  March  22,  1892.  Published  by  George  Allen. 
Bound  in  stiff  vellum. 

This  chapter  of  the  Stones  of  Venice,  which  Ruskin  always  considered  the  most 
important  in  the  book,  was  first  printed  separately,  in  1854,  as  a  sixpenny  pamphlet. 
Mr.  Morris  paid  more  than  one  tribute  to  it  in  Hopes  and  Fears  for  Art.  Of  him 
Ruskin  said,  in  1887,  "  Morris  is  beaten  gold." 

5.  The  Defence  of  Guenevere,  and  Other  Poems.  By  Wil- 
liam Morris.  Small  4to.  Golden  type.  In  black  and  red. 
Borders  2  and  i.  300  paper  copies  at  two  guineas,  10  on 
vellum  at  about  twelve  guineas.  Dated  April  2,  issued  May 
19,  1892.     Sold  by  Reeves  &  Turner.     Bound  in  limp  vellum. 

This  book  was  set  up  from  a  copy  of  the  edition  published  by  Reeves  &  Turner 
in  1880,  the  only  alteration,  except  a  few  corrections,  being  in  the  eleventh  line  of 
Summer  Dawn.^     It  is  divided  into  three  parts,  the  poems  suggested  by  Malory's 

'  At  the  Ellis  Sale  a  presentation  vellum  copy  brought  £60. 

'Mn  this  line  as  it  originally  stood,  "dawn"  was  the  rhyme  provided  for 
"  corn."  In  the  new  line  the  rhyme  for  corn  is  "  daylight  new-born  ;  "  but  Mr. 
Buxton  Forman  writes  that  Morris  was  wont  to  declare  that  "  No  South  Englishman 
makes  any  difference  in  ordinary  talk  between  dawn  and  morn  for  instance." 


Bibliocjrapb^. 


271 


Morte  d^ Arthur,  the  poems  inspired  by  Froissart's  Chronicles,  and  poems  on  various 
subjects.  The  two  first  sections  liave  borders,  and  the  last  has  a  half  border.  The 
first  sheet  was  printed  on  February  17,  1892.  It  was  the  first  book  bound  in  limp 
vellum,  and  the  only  one  of  which  the  title  was  inscribed  by  hand  on  the  back. 

6.  A  Dream  of  John  Ball  and  a  King's  Lesson.  By  William 
Morris.  Small  4to.  Golden  type.  In  black  and  red.  Borders 
3a,  4,  and  2.  With  a  woodcut  designed  by  Sir  E.  Burne-Jones. 
300  paper  copies  at  thirty  shillings,  1 1  on  vellum  at  ten 
guineas.  Dated  May  13,  issued  September  24,  1892.  Sold  by 
Reeves  &  Turner.     Bound  in  limp  vellum. 

This  was  set  up  with  a  few  alterations  from  a  copy  of  Reeves  &  Turner's  third 
edition,  and  the  printing  was  begun  on  April  4,  1892.  The  frontispiece  was  redrawn 
from  that  to  the  first  edition,  and  engraved  on  wood  by  W.  H.  Hooper,  who  en- 
graved all  Sir  E.  Burnc-Jones's  designs  for  the  Kelmscott  Press,  except  those  for  The 
IVood  Beyond  the  IVorld  and  The  Life  and  Death  of  Jason.  The  inscription  below 
the  figures,'  and  the  narrow  border,  were  designed  by  Mr.  Morris  and  engraved  with  the 
picture  on  one  block,  which  was  afterwards  used  on  a  leaflet  printed  for  the  Ancoats 
Brotherhood  in  February,  1894. 

7.  The  Golden  Legend.  By  Jacobus  de  Voragine.  Trans- 
lated by  William  Caxton.  Edited  by  F.  S.  Ellis.  3  vols.  Large 
4to.  Golden  type.  Borders  5a,  5,  6a  and  7.  Woodcut  title 
and  two  woodcuts  designed  by  Sir  E.  Burne-Jones.  soo  copies 
at  five  guineas,  none  on  vellum.  Dated  September  12,  issued 
November  3,  1892.  Published  by  Bernard  Quaritch.  Bound  in 
half  Holland,  with  paper  labels  printed  in  the  Troy  type. 

In  July,  1890,  when  only  a  few  letters  of  the  Golden  type  had  been  cut,  Mr, 
Morris  bought  a  copy  of  this  book,  printed  by  Wynkyn  de  Worde  in  1527.  He 
soon  afterwards  determined  to  print  it,  and  on  September  1  ith  entered  into  a  formal 
agreement  with  Mr.  Quaritch  for  its  publication,  it  was  only  an  unforeseen  diffi- 
culty about  the  size  of  the  first  stock  of  paper  that  led  to  The  Golden  Legend  not 
being  the  first  book  put  in  hand.  It  was  set  up  from  a  transcript  of  Caxton's  first 
edition,  lent  by  the  Syndics  of  the  Cambridge  University  Library  for  the  purpose. 
A  trial  page  was  got  out  in  March,  1891,  and  fifty  pages  were  in  type  by  May  1  ith, 
the  day  on  which  the  first  sheet  was  printed.  The  first  volume  was  finished,  with 
the  exception  of  the  illustrations  and  the  preliminary  matter,  in  October,  iSoi.  The 
two  illustrations  and  the  title  (which  was  the  first  woodcut  title  designed  by  Mr. 
Morris)  were  not  engraved  until  June  and  August,  1802,  when  the  third  volume  was 
approaching  completion.  About  half  a  dozen  impressions  of  the  illustrations  were 
pulled  on  vellum.  A  slip  asking  owners  of  the  book  not  to  have  it  bound  with 
pressure,  nor  to  have  the  edges  cut  instead  of  merely  trimmed,  was  inserted  in  each 
copy. 

'  "  When  Adam  dalf  and  Eve  span,  who  was  thanne  the  gentleman." 


2  72  Milliam  flDorrie. 

8.  The  Rectiyell  of  the  Historyes  of  Troye.  By  Raoul  Le- 
FEVRE.  Translated  by  William  Caxton.  Edited  by  H.  Halliday 
Sparling.  2  vols.  Large  4to.  Troy  type,  with  table  of  chap- 
ters and  glossary  in  Chaucer  type.  In  black  and  red.  Borders 
5a,  s,  and  8.  Woodcut  title.  300  paper  copies  at  nine  guineas, 
s  on  vellum  at  eighty  pounds.  Dated  October  14,  issued  No- 
vember 24,  1892.  Published  by  Bernard  Quaritch.  Bound  in 
limp  vellum. 

This  book,  begun  in  February,  1892,  is  the  first  book  printed  in  Troy  type, 
and  the  first  in  which  Chaucer  type  appears.  It  is  a  reprint  of  the  first  book  piinted 
in  English.  It  had  long  been  a  favourite  with  William  Morris,  who  designed  a 
great  quantity  of  initials  and  ornaments  for  it,  and  wrote  the  following  note  for  Mr. 
Quaritch's  catalogue:  "  As  to  the  matter  of  the  book,  it  makes  a  thoroughly  amus- 
ing story,  instinct  with  mediajval  thought  and  manners.  For  though  written  at  the 
end  of  the  Middle  Ages  and  dealing  with  classical  mythology,  it  has  in  it  no  token 
of  the  coming  Renaissance,  but  is  purely  mediaeval,  it  is  the  last  issue  of  that  story 
of  Troy  which  through  the  whole  of  the  Middle  Ages  had  such  a  hold  on  men's 
imaginations;  the  story  built  up  from  a  rumour  of  the  Cyclic  Poets,  of  the  heroic 
City  of  Troy,  defended  by  Priam  and  his  gallant  sons,  led  by  Hector  the  Preux 
Chevalier,  and  beset  by  the  violent  and  brutal  Greeks,  who  were  looked  on  as  the 
necessary  machinery  for  bringing  about  the  undeniable  tragedy  of  the  fall  of  the 
City.  Surely  this  is  well  worth  reading,  if  only  as  a  piece  of  undiluted  mediasval- 
ism."  2000  copies  of  a  4to  announcement,  with  specimen  pages,  were  printed  at 
the  Kelmscott  Press  in  December,  1892,  for  distribution  by  the  publisher.' 

9.  Biblia  Inuoceutium:  Being  the  Story  of  God's  Chosen 
People  before  the  Coming  of  Our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  upon  Earth. 
Written  anew  for  children,  by  J.  W.  Mackail,  Sometime  Fellow 
of  Balliol  College,  Oxford.  8vo.  Border  2.  200  on  paper  at  a 
guinea,  none  on  vellum.  Dated  October  22,  issued  December 
9,  1892.     Sold  by  Reeves  &  Turner.     Bound  in  stiff  vellum. 

This  was  the  last  book  issued  in  stiff  vellum  except  Hand  and  Soul,  and  the 
last  with  untrimmed  edges.      It  was  the  first  book  printed  in  Svo. 

10.  TJie  History  of  Reynard  the  Foxe.  By  William  Caxton. 
Reprinted  from  his  edition  of  1481.  Edited  by  H.  Halliday 
Sparling.  Large  4to.  Troy  type,  with  Glossary  in  Chaucer 
type.  In  black  and  red.  Borders  5a  and  7.  Woodcut  title. 
300  on  paper  at  three  guineas,  10  on  vellum  at  fifteen  guineas. 
Dated  December  15,  1892,  issued  January  25,  1893.  Published 
by  Bernard  Quaritch.     Bound  in  limp  vellum. 

'This  book  realised  at  the  Ellis  Sale  ;^8.ss.  for  the  paper  copy,  and  £6\  in 
vellum.  Since  its  publication  it  has  sold  as  low  as;,^2.i5s.  for  paper  copies,  and 
£2<)  for  vellum. 


Biblioorapbvx  273 

About  this  book,  which  was  first  announced  as  in  the  press  in  the  list  dated  July, 

1892,  William  Morris  wrote  the  followint(  note  for  Mr.  Quaritch's  catalogue:  "  This 
translation  of  Caxton's  is  one  of  the  very  best  of  his  works  as  to  style;  and  being 
translated  from  a  kindred  tongue  is  delightful  as  mere  language.  In  its  rude  jovial- 
ity, and  simple  and  direct  delineation  of  character,  it  is  a  thoroughly  good  repre- 
sentative of  the  famous  ancient  Beast  Epic."  The  eil^es  of  this  hook,  and  of  all 
subsequent  books,  were  trimmed  in  accordance  with  the  invariable  practice  of  the 
early  printers.     Mr.  Morris  much  preferred  the  trimmed  edges. 

11.  The  Poems  of  IVilliam  Shakespeare,  printed  after  the 
original  copies  of  Mentis  and  Adonis,  1S93.  The  Rape  of  Ln- 
crece,  1594.  Sonnets,  1609.  The  Lover's  Complaint.  Edited 
by  F.  S.  Ellis.  8vo.  Golden  type.  In  black  and  red.  Borders 
I  and  2.  300  paper  copies  at  twenty-five  shillings,  10  on  vel- 
lum at  ten   guineas.     Dated  January    17,    issued    February    13, 

1893.  Sold  by  Reeves  &  Turner.     Bound  in  limp  vellum. 

A  trial  page  of  this  book  was  set  up  on  November  1,  1892.  Though  the  num- 
ber was  large,  this  has  become  one  of  the  rarest  books  issued  from  the  Press.' 

12.  News  from  Nozchere:  or.  An  Epoch  of  Rest,  Being  Some 
Chapters  from  a  Utopian  Romance.  By  William  Morris.  8vo. 
Golden  type.  In  black  and  red.  Borders  9a  and  4,  and  a  wood- 
cut engraved  by  W.  H.  Hooper  from  a  design  by  C.  M.  Gere. 
300  on  paper  at  two  guineas,  10  on  vellum  at  ten  guineas. 
Dated  November  22,  1892,  issued  March  24,  1893.  Sold  by 
Reeves  &  Turner.     Bound  in  limp  vellum. 

The  text  of  this  book  was  printed  before  Shakespeare's  Po^;hs  and  Sonnets,  but 
it  was  kept  back  for  the  frontispiece,  which  is  a  picture  of  the  old  manor-house  in 
the  village  of  Kelmscott  by  the  upper  Thames,  from  which  the  Press  took  its  name. 
It  was  set  up  from  a  copy  of  one  of  Reeves  &  Turner's  editions,  and  in  reading  it  for 
the  press  the  author  made  a  few  slight  corrections.  It  was  the  last  book  except  the 
Savonarola  (No.  31)  in  which  he  used  the  old  paragraph  mark  #;,  which  was  dis- 
carded in  favour  of  the  leaves,  which  had  already  been  used  in  the  two  large  4to 
books  printed  in  the  Troy  type. 

13.  The  Order  of  Chivalry.  Translated  from  the  French 
by  William  Caxton  and  reprinted  from  his  edition  of  1484. 
Edited  by  F.  S.  Ellis.  And  L'Ordene  de  Chevalerie.  with  trans- 
lation by  William  Morris.  Small  4to.  Chaucer  type,  in  black 
and  red.  Borders  9a  and  4,  and  a  woodcut  designed  by  Sir 
Edward  Burne-Jones.  22^  on  paper  at  thirty  shillings,  10  on 
vellum  at  ten  guineas.      The  Order  of  Chivalry  dated  November 


'  Mr.  Ellis's  presentation  copy  sold  for  £g\. 
18 


2  74  IKIllUlam  riDorris. 

10,  1892,  L'Ordene  de  Chevalerie  dated  February  24,  1893,  is- 
sued April  12,  1893.  Sold  by  Reeves  &  Turner.  Bound  in  limp 
vellum. 

This  was  the  last  book  printed  in  small  4to.  The  last  section  is  in  8vo.  it  was 
the  first  book  printed  in  the  Chaucer  type.  The  reprint  from  Caxton  was  finished 
while  News  from  Nowhere  was  in  the  press,  and  before  Shakespeare's  Poems  and 
Sonnets  was  begun.  The  French  poem  and  its  translation  were  added  as  an  after- 
thought, and  have  a  separate  colophon.  Some  of  the  three-line  initials  which  were 
designed  for  The  IVell  at  the  IVorld's  End  are  used  in  the  French  poem,  and  this 
is  their  first  appearance.  The  translation  was  begun  on  December  3,  1892,  and  the 
border  round  the  frontispiece  was  designed  on  February  13,  1893. 

14.  The  Life  of  Thomas  Woolsey,  Cardinal  Archbishop  of 
York.  Written  by  George  Cavendish.  Edited  by  F.  S.  Ellis 
from  the  author's  autograph  MS.  8vo.  Golden  type.  Border  i. 
250  on  paper  at  two  guineas,  6  on  vellum  at  ten  guineas.  Dated 
March  30,  issued  May  3,  1893.  Sold  by  Reeves  &  Turner. 
Bound  in  limp  vellum. 

1  =>.  The  History  of  Godefrey  of  Boloyne  and  of  the  Conquest 
of  Iherusalem.  Reprinted  from  Caxton's  edition  of  1841. 
Edited  by  H.  Halliday  Sparling.  Large  4to.  Troy  type,  with 
list  of  chapter  headings  and  glossary  in  Chaucer  type,  in  black 
and  red.  Borders  sa  and  5,  and  woodcut  title.  300  on  paper 
at  six  guineas,  6  on  vellum  at  twenty  guineas.  Dated  April 
27,  issued  May  24,  1893.  Published  by  William  Morris  at  the 
Kelmscott  Press.     Bound  in  limp  vellum. 

This  was  the  fifth  and  last  of  the  Caxton  reprints,  with  many  new  ornaments 
and  initials,  and  a  new  printer's  mark.  It  was  first  announced  as  in  the  press  in  the 
list  dated  December,  1892.  It  was  the  first  book  published  and  sold  at  the  Kelm- 
scott Press.  An  announcement  and  order  form,  with  two  different  specimen  pages, 
was  printed  at  the  Press,  besides  a  special  invoice.  A  few  copies  were  bound  in  half 
holland,  not  for  sale. 

16.  Utopia.  Written  by  Sir  Thomas  More.  A  reprint  of 
the  second  edition  of  Ralph  Robinson's  translation,  with  a  fore- 
word by  William  Morris.'  Edited  by  F.  S.  Ellis.  8vo.  Chaucer 
type,  with  the  reprinted  title  in  Troy  type.  In  black  and  red. 
Borders  4  and  2.  300  on  paper  at  thirty  shillings,  8  on  vel- 
lum at  ten  guineas.  Dated  August  4,  issued  September  8,  1893. 
Sold  by  Reeves  &  Turner.     Bound  in  limp  vellum. 

This  book  was  first  announced  as  in  the  press  in  the  list  dated  JVlay  20,  1893. 


*  This  "  foreword  "  is  a  socialist  document  occupying  pp.  Ill  to  VIII. 


17.  Maud,  A  Monodrama.  By  Ai.frhd,  Lord  Tunnyson. 
8vo.  Golden  type.  In  black  and  red.  Borders  loa  and  lo,  and 
woodcut  title.  500  on  paper  at  two  guineas,  s  on  vellum,  not 
for  sale.  Dated  August  11,  issued  September  30,  1893.  Pub- 
lished by  Macmillan  &  Co.     Bound  in  limp  vellum. 

The  borders  were  specially  designed  for  this  book.  They  were  both  used  ag-iin 
in  the  Keats,  and  one  of  tliem  appears  in  The  Sauiidering  Flood.  It  is  the  first  of 
the  8vo  books  with  a  woodcut  title. 

18.  Gothic  Architecture :  A  Lecture  for  the  Arts  and  Crafts 
Exhibition  Society.  By  William  Morris.  i6mo.  Golden  type. 
In  black  and  red.  1500  on  paper  at  two  shillings  and  sixpence, 
4S  on  vellum  at  ten  and  fifteen  shillings.  Bound  in  half  hol- 
land. 

This  lecture  was  set  up  at  Hammersmith  and  printed  at  the  New  Gallery  during 
the  Arts  and  Crafts  Exhibition  in  October  and  November,  1893.  The  first  copies 
were  ready  on  October  21st  and  the  book  was  twice  reprinted  before  the  Exhibition 
closed.  It  was  the  first  book  printed  in  ibmo.  The  four-line  initials  used  in  it 
appear  here  for  the  first  time.  The  vellum  copies  were  sold  during  the  Exhibition  at 
ten  shillings,  and  the  price  was  subsequently  raised  to  fifteen  shillings.' 

19.  Sidonia  the  Sorceress.  By  William  Meinhold.  Trans- 
lated by  Francesca  Speranza,  Lady  Wilde.  Large  4to.  Golden 
type.  In  black  and  red.  Border  8.  300  paper  copies  at  four 
guineas,  10  on  vellum  at  twenty  guineas.  Dated  September  is, 
issued  November  I,  1893.  Published  by  William  Morris.  Bound 
in  limp  vellum. 

Before  the  publication  of  this  book  a  large  4to  announcement  and  order  form 
was  issued,  with  a  specimen  page  and  an  interesting  description  of  the  book  and  its 
author,  written  and  signed  by  William  Morris.  Some  copies  were  bound  in  half 
Holland  not  for  sale. 

20.  Ballads  and  Narrative  Poems  by  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti. 
8vo.  Golden  type.  In  black  and  red.  Borders  4a  and  4,  and 
woodcut  title.  310  on  paper  at  two  guineas,  6  on  vellum  at 
ten  guineas.  Dated  October  14,  issued  in  November,  1893. 
Published  by  Ellis  &  Elvey.     Bound  in  limp  vellum. 

This  book  was  announced  as  in  preparation  in  the  list  of  August  1,  1S91. 

21.  The  Tale  of  King  Florus  and  the  Fair  Jehane.  Trans- 
lated by  William  Morris  from  the  French  of  the  13th  century. 
i6mo.     Chaucer  type.     In  black  and  red.     Borders  iia  and  11, 

'  At  the  Ellis  Sale  a  copy  on  vellum  (not  presentation)  brought  £q.\o%. 


2  76  Mllllatn  riDorrls, 

and  woodcut  title.  350  on  paper  at  seven  shillings  and  six- 
pence, IS  on  vellum  at  thirty  shillings.  Dated  December  16, 
issued  December  28,  1893.  Published  by  William  Morris. 
Bound  in  half  holland. 

This  story,  like  the  three  other  translations  with  which  it  is  uniform,  was  taken 
from  a  little  volume  called  Nouvelles  Francoises  en  prose  du  Xllle  siecle,  Paris, 
Jannet,  1856.  They  were  first  announced  as  in  preparation  under  the  heading 
French  Tales  in  the  list  dated  May  20,  1895.  Eighty-five  copies  of  King  Florus 
were  bought  by  J.  &  M.  L.  Tregaskis,  who  had  them  bound  in  all  parts  of  the 
world.     These  are  now  in  the  Rylands  Library  at  Manchester. 

22.  The  Story  of  the  Glittering  Plain.  Which  has  been  also 
called  The  Land  of  Living  Men  or  The  Acre  of  the  Undying. 
Written  by  William  Morris.  Large  4to.  Troy  type,  with  list 
of  chapters  in  Chaucer  type.  In  black  and  red.  Borders  12a  and 
12,  23  designs  by  Walter  Crane,  engraved  by  A.  Leverett,  and  a 
woodcut  title.  2SO  on  paper  at  five  guineas,  7  on  vellum  at 
twenty  pounds.  Dated  January  13,  issued  February  17,  1894. 
Published  by  William  Morris.  Bound  in  limp  vellum.  Neither 
the  borders  in  this  book  nor  six  out  of  the  seven  frames  round 
the  illustrations  appear  in  any  other  book.  The  seventh  is  used 
round  the  second  picture  in  Love  is  Enough.  A  few  copies  were 
bound  in  half  holland. 

2^.  Of  the  Friendship  of  Amis  and  Amile.  Done  out  of 
the  ancient  French  by  William  Morris.  i6mo.  Chaucer  type. 
In  black  and  red.  Borders  iia  and  11,  and  woodcut  title.  500 
on  paper  at  seven  shillings  and  sixpence,  15  on  vellum  at  thirty 
shillings.  Dated  March  13th,  issued  April  4,  1894.  Published 
by  William  Morris.     Bound  in  half  holland.' 

A  poem  entitled  Amys  and  Amillion,  founded  on  this  story,  was  originally  to 
have  appeared  in  the  second  volume  of  the  Earthly  Paradise,  but,  like  some  other 
poems  announced  at  the  same  time,  it  was  not  included  in  the  book. 

20a.  Sonnets  and  Lyrical  Poems  by  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti. 
8vo.  Golden  type.  In  black  and  red.  Borders  la  and  i,  and 
woodcut  title.  310  on  paper  at  two  guineas,  6  on  vellum  at 
ten  guineas.  Dated  February  20,  issued  April  21,  1894.  Pub- 
lished by  Ellis  &  Elvey.     Bound  in  limp  vellum. 

This  book  is  uniform  with  No.  20,  to  which  it  forms  a  sequel.  Both  volumes 
were  read  for  the  press  by  Mr.  W.  M.  Rossetti. 


This  story  Morris  said  he  translated  in  a  day  and  a  quarter. 


Bibllooraphv^  '^n 

24.  The  Poems  of  John  Keats.  Edited  by  F.  S.  Hllis.  8vo. 
Golden  type.  In  black  and  red.  Borders  loa  and  10,  and  wood- 
cut title.  300  on  paper  at  thirty  shillings,  7  on  vellum  at  nine 
guineas.  Dated  March  7,  issued  May  8,  1894.  Published  by 
William  Morris.     Bound  in  limp  vellum. 

This  is  now  (January,  1898)  the  most  sought  after  of  all  the  smaller  Kelmscott 
Press  books,  it  was  announced  as  in  preparation  in  the  lists  of  May  27  and  August 
I,  189-?,  and  as  in  the  press  in  that  of  March  51,  1894,  when  the  woodcut  title  still 
remained  to  be  printed.' 

2s.  Atalanta  in  Calydon :  A  Tragedy.  By  Algernon 
Charlks  Swinburne.  Large  4to.  Troy  type,  with  argument 
and  dramatis  persona;  in  Chaucer  type;  the  dedication  and  quo- 
tation from  Euripides  in  Greek  type  designed  by  Selwyn  Image. 
In  black  and  red.  Borders  5a  and  s,  and  woodcut  title.  250 
on  paper  at  two  guineas,  8  on  vellum  at  twelve  guineas.  Dated 
May  4,  issued  July  24,  1894.  Published  by  William  Morris. 
Bound  in  limp  vellum. 

In  the  vellum  copies  of  this  book  the  colophon  is  not  on  the  eighty-second 
page  as  in  the  paper  copies,  but  on  the  following  page. 

26.  The  Tale  of  the  Emperor  Coustans  and  of  Over  Sea. 
Done  out  of  ancient  French  by  William  Morris.  i6mo.  Chau- 
cer type.  In  black  and  red.  Borders  iiaand  11,  both  twice, 
and  two  woodcut  titles.  S2S  on  paper  at  seven  shillings  and 
sixpence,  20  on  vellum  at  two  guineas.  Dated  August  30,  issued 
September  26,  1894.  Published  by  William  Morris.  Bound 
in  half  holland. 

The  first  of  these  stories,  which  was  the  source  of  The  Man  Born  to  be  King  in 
The  Earthly  Paradise,  was  announced  as  in  preparation  in  the  list  of  March  31, 
1894. 

27.  The  Wood  Beyond  the  IVorld.  By  William  Morris. 
8vo.  Chaucer  type.  In  black  and  red.  Borders  13a  and  13,  and 
a  frontispiece  designed  by  Sir  E.  Burne-Jones,  and  engraved  on 
wood  by  W.  Spielmeyer.  350  on  paper  at  two  guineas,  8  on 
vellum  at  ten  guineas.  Dated  May  30,  issued  October  16,  1894. 
Published  by  William  Morris.     Bound  in  limp  vellum. 

The  borders  in  this  book,  as  well  as  the  ten  half  borders,  are  here  used  for  the 
first  time.  It  was  first  announced  as  in  the  press  in  the  list  of  March  ;i,  1804. 
Another  edition  was  published  by  Lawrence  &  Bullen  in  1895. 


'  At  the  Ellis  Sale  a  paper  copy  brought  ;^25.ios.,  while  in  1900  one  brought 
;^27.5s. 


2  78  XKIliUiam  nDorris. 

28.  The  Book  of  IVisdom  and  Lies.  A  Book  of  Traditional 
Stories  from  Georgia  and  Asia.  Translated  by  Oliver  Wardrop 
from  the  original  of  Sulkhan-SabaOrbeliani.  8vo.  Golden  type. 
In  black  and  red.  Borders  4a  and  4,  and  woodcut  title.  250  on 
paper  at  two  guineas,  none  on  vellum.  Finished  September  20, 
issued  October  29,  1894.  Published  by  Bernard  Quaritch.  Bound 
in  limp  vellum. 

The  arms  of  Georgia,  consisting  ot  the  Holy  Coat,  appear  in  the  woodcut  title 
of  this  book.' 

29.  The  Poetical  Works  of  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley.  Volume  I. 
Edited  by  F.  S.  Ellis.  8vo.  Golden  type.  Borders  la  and  i, 
and  woodcut  title.  250  on  paper  at  twenty-five  shillings,  6  on 
vellum  at  eight  guineas.  Not  dated,  issued  November  29,  1894. 
Published  by  William  Morris.  Bound  in  limp  vellum  without 
ties. 

Red  ink  is  not  used  in  this  volume,  though  it  is  used  in  the  second  volume,  and 
more  sparingly  in  the  third.  Some  of  the  half  borders  designed  for  The  IVood  Be- 
yond the  IVorld  reappear  before  the  longer  poems.  The  Shelley  was  first  an- 
nounced as  in  the  press  in  the  list  of  March  3 1 ,  1894.* 

30.  Psalmi  Penitentiales.  An  English  rhymed  version  of  the 
Seven  Penitential  Psalms.  Edited  by  F.  S.  Ellis.  8vo.  Chaucer 
type.  In  black  and  red.  300  on  paper  at  seven  shillings  and  six- 
pence, 12  on  vellum  at  three  guineas.  Dated  November  i"^, 
issued  December  10,  1894.  Published  by  William  Morris.  Bound 
in  half  holland. 

These  verses  were  taken  from  a  manuscript  Book  of  Hours,  written  at  Gloucester 
in  the  first  half  of  the  fifteenth  century,  but  the  Rev.  Professor  Skeat  has  pointed  out 
that  the  scribe  must  have  copied  them  from  an  older  manuscript,  as  they  are  in  the 
Kentish  dialect  of  about  a  century  earlier.  The  half  border  on  p.  34  appears  for  the 
first  time  in  this  book. 

31.  Epistolade  Contemptumnndi  di  Frate  Hieronymo  da 
Ferrara  Dellordinede  Frati  Predicatori  la  Quale  Manda  ad 
Elena  Buonaccorsi  Sua  Madre.  Per  Consolarla  Della  Morte 
DEL  Fratello,  Suo  Zio.  Edited  by  Charles  Fairfax  Murray  from 
the  original  autograph  letter.     8vo.     Chaucer  type.     In  black  and 


'  Mr.  Vallance  says,  "  This  is  noteworthy  as  being  the  sole  instance  of  a  heraldic 
device  among  the  published  designs  of  William  Morris." 

''In  the  list  of  Dec.  ist,  1894,  the  2d  and  3d  volumes  are  announced  to 
follow  "early  in  the  New  Year."  The  third  volume  did  not,  however,  appear 
until  the  autumn  of  1895. 


Bibliography.  279 

red.     Border  i.     Woodcut  on  title  designed  by  C.  F.  Murray  and 
engraved  by  W.  H.   Hooper,      iso  on  paper  and  6  on   vellum. 
Dated  November  30,  ready  December  12,   1894.     Bound  in  half 
Holland. 

This  little  book  was  printed  for  Mr.  C.  Fairfax  Murray,  the  owner  of  the  manu- 
script, and  was  not  for  sale  in  the  ordinary  way.  The  colophon  is  in  Italian,  and 
the  printer's  mark  is  in  red. 

}2.  The  Tale  of  Beowulf .  Done  out  of  the  old  English  tongue 
by  William  Morris  and  A.  J.  Wyatt.  Large  4to.  Troy  type, 
with  argument,  side-notes,  list  of  persons  and  places,  and  glos- 
sary in  Chaucer  type.  In  black  and  red.  Borders  14a  and  14, 
and  woodcut  title.  300  oh  paper  at  two  guineas,  8  on  vellum 
at  ten  pounds.  Dated  January  10,  issued  February  2,  1895. 
Published  by  William  Morris.     Bound  in  limp  vellum. 

The  borders  in  this  book  were  only  used  once  again,  in  the  Jason.  A  note  to 
the  reader  printed  on  a  slip  in  the  Golden  type  was  inserted  in  each  copy.  Beowulf 
was  first  announced  as  in  preparation  in  the  list  of  May  20,  iSo"}.  The  verse  trans- 
lation was  begun  by  Mr.  Morris,  with  the  aid  of  Mr.  Wyatt's  careful  paraphrase  of 
the  text,  on  February  21,  1893,  and  finished  on  April  10,  1894,  but  the  argument 
was  not  written  by  Mr.  Morris  until  December  10,  1894. 

}}.  Syr  Perecyvelle  of  Gales.  Overseen  by  F.  S.  Ellis,  after 
the  edition  edited  by  J.  O.  Halliwell  from  the  Thornton  MS.  in  the 
Library  of  Lincoln  Cathedral.  8vo.  Chaucer  type.  In  black 
and  red.  Borders  13a  and  15,  and  a  woodcut  designed  by  Sir  E. 
Burne-Jones.  350  on  paper  at  fifteen  shillings,  8  on  vellum  four 
guineas.  Dated  February  16,  issued  May  2,  1895.  Published 
by  William  Morris.     Bound  in  limp  vellum. 

This  is  the  first  of  the  series  to  which  Sire  Degrevatuit  and  Syr  Isumbrace  be- 
long. They  were  all  reprinted  from  the  Camden  Society's  volume  of  1844,  which 
was  a  favourite  with  Mr.  Morris  from  his  Oxford  days.  Syr  Perecyvelle  was  first  an- 
nounced in  the  list  of  December  1,  1894.  The  shoulder-notes  were  added  by  Mr. 
Morris. 

34.  The  Life  and  Death  of  fason,  A  Poem  by  William  Mor- 
ris. Large  4to.  Troy  type,  with  a  few  words  in  Chaucer  type. 
In  black  and  red.  Borders  14a  and  14,  and  two  woodcuts  de- 
signed by  Sir  E.  Burne-Jones  and  engraved  on  wood  by  W.  Spiel- 
meyer.  200  on  paper  at  five  guineas,  6  on  vellum  at  twenty 
guineas.  Dated  May  2s,  issued  July  s,  1895.  Published  by 
William  Morris.     Bound  in  limp  vellum. 


2  8o  MUltam  HDorris. 

This  book,  announced  as  in  the  press  in  the  list  of  April  21,  1894,  proceeded 
slowly,  as  several  other  books,  notably  the  Chaucer,  were  being  printed  at  the  same 
time.  The  text,  which  had  been  corrected  for  the  second  edition  of  1868,  and  for 
the  edition  of  1882,  was  again  revised  by  the  author.  The  line  fillings  on  the  last 
page  were  cut  on  metal  for  the  book,  and  cast  like  type. 

29a.      The  Poetical  Works  of  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley.     Volume 

11.  Edited  by  F.  S.  Ellis.  8vo.  Golden  type.  In  black  and 
red.  250  on  paper  at  twenty-five  shillings,  6  on  vellum  at  eight 
guineas.  Not  dated,  issued  March  25,  1895.  Published  by  Wil- 
liam Morris,     Bound  in  limp  vellum  without  ties. 

35.  Child  Christopher  and  Goldilind  the  Fair.  By  Wil- 
liam Morris.  2  vols.  i6mo.  Chaucer  type.  In  black  and 
red.  Borders  15a  and  15,  and  woodcut  title.  600  on  paper  at 
fifteen  shillings,  12  on  vellum  at  four  guineas.  Dated  July  23, 
issued  September  25,  189s.  Published  by  William  Morris. 
Bound  in  half  holland,  with  labels  printed  in  the  Golden  type. 

The  borders  designed  for  this  book  were  only  used  once  again,  in  Hand  and 
Soul.  The  plot  of  the  story  was  suggested  by  that  of  Havelok  the  Dane,  printed  by 
the  Early  English  Text  Society. 

29b.  The  Poetical  Works  of  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley.  Volume 
III.  Edited  by  F.  S.  Ellis.  8vo.  Golden  type.  In  black  and 
red.  2S0  on  paper  at  twenty-five  shillings,  6  on  vellum  at 
eight  guineas.  Dated  August  21,  issued  October  28,  1895.  Pub- 
lished by  William  Morris.     Bound  in  limp  vellum  without  ties. 

36.  Hand  and  Soul.  By  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti.  Reprinted 
from  The  Germ,  for  Messrs.  Way  &  Williams,  of  Chicago.  i6mo. 
Golden  type.  In  black  and  red.  Borders  15a  and  15,  and  wood- 
cut title.  300  paper  copies  and  11  vellum  copies  for  America. 
22^  paper  copies  for  sale  in  England  at  ten  shillings,  and  10  on 
vellum  at  thirty  shillings.     Dated  October  24,  issued  December 

12,  1895.     Bound  in  stiff  vellum,  without  ties. 

This  was  the  only  i6mo  book  bound  in  vellum.  The  English  and  American 
copies  have  a  slightly  different  colophon.  The  shoulder-notes  were  added  by  Mr. 
Morris. 

37.  Poems  Chosen  out  of  the  Works  of  Robert  Herrick. 
Edited  by  F.  S.  Ellis.  8vo.  Golden  type.  In  black  and  red. 
Borders  4a  and  4,  and  woodcut  title.  250  on  paper  at  thirty 
shillings,  8  on  vellum  at  eight  guineas.  Dated  November  21, 
1895,  issued  February  6,  1896.  Published  by  William  Morris. 
Bound  in  limp  vellum. 


Bibliography.  281 

This  book  was  first  announced  as  in  preparation  in  the  list  of  December  i,  1894, 
and  as  in  the  press  in  that  of  July  1,  1895. 

38.  Poems  Chosen  out  of  the  Works  of  Samuel  Taylor  Cole- 
ridge. Edited  by  F.  S.  Ellis.  8vo.  Golden  type.  In  black  and 
red.  Borders  13a  and  13.  300  on  paper  at  a  guinea,  8  on  vel- 
lum at  five  guineas.  Dated  February  (>,  issued  April  12,  1896, 
Published  by  William  Morris.     Bound  in  limp  vellum.' 

This  book  contains  thirteen  poems.  It  was  first  announced  as  in  preparation 
in  the  list  of  December  i,  1894,  and  as  in  the  press  in  that  of  November  20,  18Q5. 
It  is  the  last  of  the  series  to  which  Tennyson's  Maud,  and  the  poems  of  Rossetti, 
Keats,  Shelley,  and  Herrick  belong. 

39.  The  Well  at  the  World's  End.  By  William  Morris. 
Large  4to.  Double  columns.  Chaucer  type.  In  black  and  red. 
Borders  i6a,  16,  17a,  17,  i8a,  18,  19a,  19,  and  four  woodcuts 
designed  by  Sir  E.  Burne-Jones.  350  on  paper  at  five  guineas, 
8  on  vellum  at  twenty  guineas.  Dated  March  2,  issued  June  4, 
1896.     Sold  by  William  Morris.     Bound  in  limp  vellum. 

This  book,  delayed  for  various  reasons,  was  longer  on  hand  than  any  other.  It 
appears  in  no  less  than  twelve  lists,  from  that  of  December,  1892,  to  that  of  Novem- 
ber 26,  1895,  as  "  in  the  press."  Tnal  pages,  including  one  in  a  single  column, 
were  ready  as  early  as  September,  1802,  and  the  printing  began  on  December  lOth, 
of  that  year.  The  edition  of  The  IVell  at  the  IVorld's  End,  published  by  Long- 
mans, was  then  being  printed  from  the  author's  manuscript  at  the  Chiswick  Press, 
and  the  Kelmscott  Press  edition  was  set  up  from  the  sheets  of  that  edition,  which, 
though  not  issued  until  October,  1896,  was  finished  in  1894.  The  eight  borders 
and  the  six  different  ornaments  between  the  colunms  appear  here  for  the  first  time, 
but  are  used  again  in  The  Water  of  the  Wondrous  Isles,  with  the  exception  of  two 
borders. 

40.  The  Works  of  Geoffrey  Chaucer.  Edited  by  F.  S.  Ellis. 
Folio.  Chaucer  type,  with  headings  to  the  longer  poems  in 
Troy  type.  In  black  and  red.  Borders  20a  to  26,  woodcut  title, 
and  eighty-seven  woodcut  illustrations  designed  by  Sir  E.  Burne- 
Jones,  425  on  paper  at  twenty  pounds,  13  on  vellum  at  120 
guineas.  Dated  May  8,  issued  June  26,  1896.  Published  by 
William  Morris.     Bound  in  half  holland. 

The  history  of  this  book,  which  is  by  far  the  most  important  achievement  of 
the  Kelmscott  Press,  is  as  follows: 

As  far  back  as  June  i  i,  1891,  Mr.  Morris  spoke  of  printing  a  Chaucer  with  a 
black-letter  fount,  which  he  hoped  to  design.  Four  months  later,  when  most  of 
the   Troy  type  was  designed  and  cut,  he  expressed  his  intention  to  use  it  first  on 


'  Dull  red  silk  ties.      Gold  lettering  on  back. 


282  Milliam  riDorris, 

John  Ball,  and  then  on  a  Chaucer,  and  perhaps  a  Gesta  Romanorum.  By  January 
I,  1892,  the  Troy  type  was  delivered,  and  early  in  that  month  two  trial  pages,  one 
from  The  Cook's  Tale  and  one  from  Sir  Thopas,  the  latter  in  double  columns,  were 
got  out.  It  then  became  evident  that  the  type  was  too  large  for  a  Chaucer,  and 
Mr.  Morris  decided  to  have  it  re-cut  in  the  size  known  as  pica.  By  the  end  of  June 
he  was  thus  in  possession  of  the  type  which,  in  the  list  issued  in  December,  1892,  he 
named  the  Chaucer  type.  In  July,  1892,  another  trial  page,  a  passage  from  The 
Knight's  Tale,  in  double  columns  of  fifty-eight  lines,  was  got  out,  and  found  to  be 
satisfactory.  The  idea  of  the  Chaucer  as  it  now  exists,  with  illustrations  by  Sir 
Edward  Burne-Jones,  then  took  definite  shape. 

In  a  proof  of  the  first  list,  dated  April,  1892,  there  is  an  announcement  of  the 
book  as  in  preparation,  in  black-letter,  large  quarto,  but  this  was  struck  out,  and 
does  not  appear  in  the  list  as  printed  in  May,  nor  yet  in  the  July  list.  In  that  for 
December,  1892,  it  is  announced  for  the  first  time  as  to  be  in  Chaucer  type  "with 
about  sixty  designs  by  E.  Burne-Jones."  The  next  list,  dated  March  9,  1893,  states 
that  it  will  be  a  folio,  and  that  it  is  in  the  press,  by  which  was  meant  that  a  few 
pages  were  in  type.  In  the  list  dated  August  1,  1893,  the  probable  price  is  given 
as  twenty  pounds.  The  next  four  lists  contain  no  fresh  information,  but  on  August 
17,  1894,  nine  days  after  the  first  sheet  was  printed,  a  notice  was  sent  to  the  trade 
that  there  would  be  ^25  copies  at  twenty  pounds,  and  about  sixty  woodcut  designs 
by  Sir  Edward  Burne-Jones.  Three  months  later  it  was  decided  to  increase  the 
number  of  illustrations  to  upwards  of  seventy,  and  to  print  another  100  copies  of  the 
book.  A  circular  letter  was  sent  to  the  subscribers  on  November  14th,  stating  this, 
and  giving  them  an  opportunity  of  cancelling  their  orders.  Orders  were  not  with- 
drawn, the  extra  copies  were  immediately  taken  up,  and  the  list  for  December  i, 
1894,  which  is  the  first  containing  full  particulars,  announces  that  all  paper  copies 
are  sold.' 

Mr.  Morris  began  designing  his  first  folio  border  on  February  1,  1893,  t>ut  was 
dissatisfied  with  the  design  and  did  not  finish  it  Three  days  later  he  began  the 
vine  border  for  the  first  page,  and  finished  it  in  about  a  week,  together  with  the 
initial  word  "  Whan,"  the  two  lines  of  heading,  and  the  frame  for  the  first  picture, 
and  Mr.  Hooper  engraved  the  whole  of  these  on  one  block.  The  first  picture  was 
engraved  at  about  the  same  time.  A  specimen  of  the  first  page  (differing  slightly 
from  the  same  page  as  it  appears  in  the  book)  was  shown  at  the  Arts  and  Crafts 
Exhibition  in  October  and  November,  1893,  and  was  issued  to  a  few  leading  book- 
sellers, but  it  was  not  until  August  8,  1894,  that  the  first  sheet  was  printed  at  14, 
Upper  Mall.  On  January  8,  1895,  another  press  was  started  at  21,  Upper  .Mall, 
and  from  that  time  two  presses  were  almost  exclusively  at  work  on  the  Chaucer. 
By  September  toth,  the  last  page  of  The  Romaunt  of  the  Rose  was  printed.  In 
the  middle  of  February,  1896,  Mr.  Morris  began  designing  the  title.  It  was  finished 
on  the  27th  of  the  same  month  and  engraved  by  Mr.  Hooper  in  March.  On  May 
8th,  a  year  and  nine  months  after  the  printing  of  the  first  sheet,  the  book  was  com- 
pleted. On  June  2nd,  the  first  two  copies  were  delivered  to  Sir  Edward  Burne-Jones 
and  Mr.  Morris.  Mr.  Morris's  copy  is  now  at  Exeter  College,  Oxford,  with  other 
books  printed  at  the  Kelmscott  Press. 

Besides  the  eighty-seven  illustrations  designed  by  Sir  Edward  Burne-Jones,  and 


'  Also  that  7  of  the  8  vellum  copies  have  been  subscribed  for. 


engraved  by  W.  H.  Hooper,  the  Chaucer  contains  a  woodcut  title,  fourteen  large 
borders,  eighteen  different  frames  around  the  illustrations,  and  twenty-six  large  in- 
itial words  designed  for  the  book  by  Williani  Morris.  Many  of  these  were  engraved 
by  C.  E.  Keats,  and  others  by  W.  H.  Hooper  and  W.  Spielmeyer. 

In  February,  1896,  a  notice  was  issued  respecting  special  bindings,  of  which 
Mr.  Morris  intended  to  design  four. 

Two  of  these  were  to  have  been  executed  under  Mr.  Cobden-Sanderson's  di- 
rection at  the  Doves  Bindery,  and  two  by  Messrs.  J.  &  J.  Leighton.  But  the  only 
design  that  he  was  able  to  complete  was  for  a  full  white  pigskin  binding,  which 
has  now  been  carried  out  at  the  Doves  Bindery  on  forty-eight  copies,  including  two 
on  vellum.' 

41.  The  Earlhlv  Paradise.     By  William  Morris.     Volume 

I.  Prologue:  The  Wanderers.  March:  Atalanta's  Race.  The 
Man  Born  to  be  King.  Medium  4to.  Golden  type.  In  black 
and  red.  Borders  27a,  27,  28a,  and  28,  and  woodcut  title.  22^ 
on  paper  at  thirty  shillings,  6  on  vellum  at  seven  guineas. 
Dated  May  7,  issued  July  24,  1896.  Published  by  William 
Morris.     Bound  in  limp  vellum. 

This  was  the  first  book  printed  on  the  paper  with  the  apple  water-mark.  The 
seven  other  volumes  followed  it  at  intervals  of  a  few  montlis.  None  of  the  ten 
borders  used  in  the  Earthly  Paradise  appear  in  any  other  book.  The  four  different 
half-borders  round  the  poems  to  the  months  are  also  not  used  elsewhere.  The  first 
border  was  designed  in  June,  1895. 

42.  Laudes  Beaton  Marm  Virginis.  Latin  poems  taken  from 
a  Psalter  written  in  England  about  a.d.  1220.  Edited  by  S.  C. 
Cockerell.  Large  4to.  Troy  type.  In  black,  red,  and  blue. 
2SO  on  paper  at  ten  shillings,  10  on  vellum  at  two  guineas. 
Dated  July  7,  issued  August  7,  1896.  Published  by  William 
Morris.     Bound  in  half  holland. 

This  was  the  first  book  printed  at  the  Kelmscott  Press  in  three  colours.'  The 
manuscript  from  which  the  poems  were  taken  was  one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  the 
English  books  in  Mr.  Morris's  possession,  both  as  regards  writing  and  ornament. 
No  author's  name  is  given  to  the  poems,  but  after  this  book  was  issued  the  Rev.  E. 
S.  Dewick  pointed  out  that  they  had  already  been  printed  at  Tegernsee  in  1579,  in 
a  i6mo  volume  in  which  they  are  ascribed  to  Stephen  Langton.  A  note  to  this 
effect  was  printed  in  the  Chaucer  type  in  December  28,  1896,  and  distributed  to 
the  subscribers. 

41a.     The  Earthly  Paradise.     By  William  Morris.     Volume 

II.  April:     The   Doom   of  King  Acrisius.      The   Proud  King. 

'  In  the  prospectus  the  price  for  full  white  tooled  pigskin  binding  executed  under 
Mr.  Cobden-Sanderson's  direction  is  given  at  £\}. 

'  The  quotations  heading  each  stanza  are  in  red,  the  initial  letters  pale  blue,  the 
remaining  text  in  black. 


284  MilUam  flDorrls, 

Medium  4to.  Golden  type.  In  black  and  red.  Borders  29a, 
29,  28a,  and  28.  22^  on  paper  at  thirty  shillings,  6  on  vellum 
at  seven  guineas.  Dated  June  24,  issued  September  17,  1896. 
Published  by  William  Morris.     Bound  in  limp  vellum. 

43.  The  Floure  and  the  Leafe,  and  The  Boke  of  Cupide,  God 
of  Love,  or  The  Cuchow  and  the  Nightingale.  Edited  by  F.  S. 
Ellis.  Medium  4to.  Troy  type,  with  note  and  colophon  in 
Chaucer  type.  In  black  and  red.  300  on  paper  at  ten  shillings, 
10  on  vellum  at  two  guineas.  Dated  August  21,  issued  Novem- 
ber 2,  1896.  Published  at  the  Kelmscott  Press.  Bound  in  half 
hoUand. 

Two  of  the  initial  words  from  the  Chaucer  are  used  in  this  book,  one  at  the 
beginning  of  each  poem.  These  poems  were  formerly  attributed  to  Chaucer,  but 
recent  scholarship  has  proved  that  The  Floure  and  the  Leafe  is  much  later  than 
Chaucer,  and  that  The  Cuckow  and  the  Nightingale  was  written  by  Sir  Thomas 
Clanvowe  about  a.d.  1405-10. 

44.  The  Shepheardes  Calender:  Conteyning  Twelve  Aeg- 
lognes.  Proportionable  to  the  Twelve  Monethes.  By  Edmund 
Spencer.  Edited  by  F.  S.  Ellis.  Medium  4to.  Golden  type.  In 
black  and  red.  With  twelve  full  page  illustrations  by  A.  J.  Gas- 
kin.  22^  on  paper  at  a  guinea,  6  on  vellum  at  three  guineas. 
Dated  October  14,  issued  November  26,  1896.  Published  at  the 
Kelmscott  Press.     Bound  in  half  holland. 

The  illustrations  in  this  book  were  printed  trom  process  blocks  by  Walker 
&  Boutall.  By  an  oversight,  the  names  of  author,  editor,  and  artist  were  omitted 
from  the  colophon. 

41b.      The  Earthly  Paradise.     By  William  Morris.     Volume 

III.  May :  The  Story  of  Cupid  and  Psyche.  The  Writing  on  the 
Image.  June:  The  Love  of  Alcestis.  The  Lady  of  the  Land. 
Medium  4to.  Golden  type.  In  black  and  red.  Borders  30a, 
30,  27a,  27,  28a,  28,  29a,  and  29.  22^  on  paper  at  thirty  shil- 
lings, 6  on  vellum  at  seven  guineas.  Dated  August  24,  issued 
December  5,  1896.  Published  at  the  Kelmscott  Press.  Bound 
in  limp  vellum. 

41C.     The  Earthly  Paradise.    By  William  Morris.     Volume 

IV.  July:  The  Son  of  Croesus.  The  Watching  of  the  Falcon. 
August:  Pygmalion  and  the  Image.  Ogier  the  Dane.  Medium 
4to.  Golden  type.  In  black  and  red.  Borders  31a,  31,  29a,  29, 
28a,  28,  30a,  and  30.     Dated  November  2S,  1896,  issued  January 


Biblioorapb^.  285 

22,  1897.  Published  at  the  Kelmscott  Press.  Bound  in  limp 
vellum. 

4 id.      The  Earthly  Paradise.     By  William  Morris.     Volume 

V.  September.  The  Death  of  Paris.  The  Land  East  of  the 
Sun  and  West  of  the  Moon.  October:  The  Story  of  Acontius 
and  Cydippe.  The  Man  Who  Never  Laughed  Again.  Medium 
4to.  Golden  type.  In  black  and  red.  Borders  29a,  29,  27a, 
27,  28a,  28,  31a,  and  31.  Finished  December  24,  1896,  issued 
March  9,  1897.  Published  at  the  Kelmscott  Press.  Bound  in 
limp  vellum. 

4ie.     The  Earthly  Paradise.     By  William  Morris.     Volume 

VI.  November:  The  Story  of  Rhodope.  The  Lovers  of  Giid- 
run.  Medium  4to.  Golden  type.  In  black  and  red.  Borders 
27a,  27,  30a,  and  30.  Finished  February  18,  issued  May  11, 
1897.     Published  at  the  Kelmscott  Press.     Bound  in  limp  vellum. 

4 if.      The  Earthly  Paradise.     By  William  Morris.     Volume 

VII.  December:  The  Golden  Apples.  The  Fostering  of  Aslaug. 
January:  Bellerophon  at  Argos.  The  Ring  Given  to  yenus. 
Medium  4to.  Golden  type.  In  black  and  red.  Borders  29a,  29, 
31a,  31,  30a,  30,  27a,  and  27.  Finished  March  17,  issued  July  29, 
1897.     Published  at  the  Kelmscott  Press.     Bound  in  limp  vellum. 

45.  The  Water  of  the  Wondrous  Isles.  By  William  Morris. 
Large  4to.  Chaucer  type,  in  double  columns,  with  a  few  lines 
in  Troy  type  at  the  end  of  each  of  the  seven  parts.  In  black 
and  red.  Borders  i6a,  17a,  i8a,  19,  and  19a.  250  on  paper  at 
three  guineas,  6  on  vellum  at  twelve  guineas.  Dated  April  i, 
issued  July  29,  1897.  Published  at  the  Kelmscott  Press.  Bound 
in  limp  vellum. 

Unlike  The  IVell  at  the  IVorld's  End,  with  which  it  is  mainly  uniform,  this 
book  has  red  shoulder-notes  and  no  illustrations.  Mr.  Morris  began  the  story  in 
verse  on  February  4,  1895.  A  few  days  later  he  began  it  afresh  in  alternate  prose 
and  verse;  but  he  was  again  dissatisfied,  and  finally  began  it  a  third  time  in  prose 
alone,  as  it  now  stands.  It  was  first  announced  as  in  the  press  in  the  list  of  June  i, 
1896,  at  which  date  the  early  chapters  were  in  type,  although  they  were  not  printed 
until  about  a  month  later.  The  designs  for  the  initial  words  "Whilom"  and 
"  Empty  "  were  begun  by  William  Morris  shortly  before  his  death,  and  were  finished 
by  R.  Catterson-Smith.  Another  edition  was  published  by  Longmans  on  October 
I,  1897. 

4ig.      The  Earthly  Paradise.     By  William  Morris.     Volume 

VIII.  February:  Bellerophon  in  Lycia.  The  Hill  of  l^eniis.  Epi- 
logue.    L' Envoi.     Medium   4to.     Golden   type.     In   black   and 


286  railliam  riDorris, 

red.  Borders  28a,  28,  29a,  and  29,  Finished  June  10,  issued 
September  27,  1897.  Published  at  the  Kelmscott  Press.  Bound 
in  limp  vellum. 

The  colophon  of  this  final  volume  of  The  Earthly  Paradise  contains  the  fol- 
lowing note:  "  The  borders  in  this  edition  of  The  Earthly  Paradise  were  designed 
by  William  Morris,  except  those  on  page  4  of  Volumes  ii.,  iii.,  and  iv.,  afterwards  re- 
peated, which  were  designed  to  match  the  opposite  borders,  under  William  Morris's 
direction,  by  R.  Catterson-Smith,  who  also  finished  the  initial  words  '  Whilom  '  and 
'  Empty '  for  The  Water  of  the  Wondrous  Isles.  All  the  other  letters,  borders, 
title-pages,  and  ornaments  used  at  the  Kelmscott  Press,  except  the  Greek  type  in 
Atalanta  in  Calf  don,  were  designed  by  William  Morris." 

46.  Two  trial  pages  of  the  projected  edition  of  Lord  Ber- 
ners's  Translation  of  Froissart's  Chronicles.  Folio.  Chaucer 
type,  with  heading  in  Troy  type.  In  black  and  red.  Border 
32,  containing  the  shields  of  France,  the  Empire,  and  England, 
and  a  half-border  containing  those  of  Reginald,  Lord  Cobham, 
Sir  John  Chandos,  and  Sir  Walter  Manny.  160  on  vellum  at  a 
guinea,  none  on  paper.  Dated  September,  issued  October  7, 
1897.     Published  at  the  Kelmscott  Press.     Not  bound. 

It  was  the  intention  of  Mr.  Morris  to  make  this  edition  of  what  was  since  his 
college  days  almost  his  favourite  book  a  worthy  companion  to  the  Chaucer.  It  was 
to  have  been  in  two  volumes  folio,  with  new  cusped  initials  and  heraldic  ornament 
throughout.  Each  volume  was  to  have  had  a  large  frontispiece  designed  by  Sir 
Edward  Burne-Jones;  the  subject  of  the  first  was  to  have  been  St.  George,  that  of 
the  second  Fame.  A  trial  page  was  set  up  in  the  Troy  type  soon  after  it  came  from 
the  foundry,  in  January,  1892.  Early  in  1893  trial  pages  were  set  up  in  the  Chaucer 
type,  and  in  the  list  for  March  9th  of  that  year  the  book  is  erroneously  stated  to  be 
in  the  press.  In  the  three  following  lists  it  is  announced  as  in  preparation.  In  the 
list  dated  December  i,  1895,  and  in  the  three  next  lists,  it  is  again  announced  as  in 
the  press,  and  the  number  to  be  printed  is  given  as  1 50.  Meanwhile  the  printing  of 
the  Chaucer  had  been  begun,  and  as  it  was  not  feasible  to  carry  on  two  folios  at  the 
same  time,  the  Froissart  again  comes  under  the  heading  "  in  preparation  "  in  the  lists 
from  December  i,  1894,  to  June  i,  1896.  In  the  prospectus  of  The  Shepheardes 
Calender,  dated  November  12,  1896,  it  is  announced  as  abandoned.  At  that  time 
about  thirty-four  pages  were  in  type,  but  no  sheet  had  been  printed.  Before  the 
type  was  broken  up,  on  December  24,  1896,  thirty-two  copies  of  sixteen  of  these 
pages  were  printed  and  given  as  a  memento  to  personal  friends  of  the  poet  and 
printer  whose  death  now  made  the  completion  of  the  book  impossible.  This  sug- 
gested the  idea  of  printing  two  pages  for  wider  distribution.  The  half-border  had 
been  engraved  in  April,  1894,  by  W.  Spielmeyer,  but  the  large  border  only  existed 
as  a  drawing.  It  was  engraved  with  great  skill  and  spirit  by  C.  E.  Keates,  and  the 
two  pages  were  printed  by  Stephen  Mowlem,  with  the  help  of  an  apprentice,  in  a 
manner  worthy  of  the  designs. 


Bibliotjraph^.  287 

47.  Sire  Degrevaimt.  Edited  by  F.  S.  Ellis  after  the  edition 
printed  by  J.  O.  Halliwell.  8vo.  Chaucer  type.  In  black  and  red. 
Borders  la  and  i,  and  a  woodcut  designed  by  Sir  Edward  Burne- 
Jones.  3SO  on  paper  at  fifteen  shillings,  8  on  vellum  at  four 
guineas.  Dated  March  14,  1896,  issued  November  12,  1897. 
Published  at  the  Kelmscott  Press.     Bound  in  half  holland. 

This  book,  subjects  from  which  were  painted  by  Sir  Edward  Hurne-Jones  on  the 
walls  of  the  Red  House,  Upton,  Bexley  Heath,  many  years  ago,  was  always  a 
favourite  with  Mr.  Morris.  The  frontispiece  was  not  printed  until  October,  1897, 
eighteen  months  after  the  text  was  finished. 

48.  Syr  Ysambrace.  Edited  by  F.  S.  Ellis  after  the  edition 
printed  by  J.  O.  Halliwell  from  the  MS.  in  the  Library  of  Lincoln 
Cathedral,  with  some  corrections.  8vo.  Chaucer  type.  In  black 
and  red.  Borders  4a  and  4,  and  a  woodcut  designed  by  Sir 
Edward  Burne-Jones.  350  on  paper  at  twelve  shillings,  8  on 
vellum  at  four  guineas.  Dated  July  14,  issued  November  11, 
1897.     Published  at  the  Kelmscott  Press.     Bound  in  half  holland. 

This  is  the  third  and  last  of  the  reprints  from  the  Camden  Society's  volume  of 
Thornton  Romances.  The  text  was  all  set  up  and  partly  printed  by  June,  1896,  at 
which  time  it  was  intended  to  include  Sir  Eglamour  in  the  same  volume. 

49.  Some  German-  Woodcuts  of  the  Fifteenth  Century.  Be- 
ing thirty-Jive  reproductions  from  books  that  were  in  the  library 
of  the  late  William  Morris.  Edited,  with  a  list  of  the  principal 
woodcut  books  in  that  library,  by  S.  C.  Cockerell.  Large  4to. 
Golden  type.  In  red  and  black.  22s  on  paper  at  thirtv  shil- 
lings, 8  on  vellum  at  five  guineas.  Dated  December  15,  1897, 
issued  January  6,  1898.  Published  at  the  Kelmscott  Press.  Bound 
in  half  holland. 

Of  these  thirty-five  reproductions  twenty-nine  were  all  that  were  done  of  a 
series  chosen  by  Mr.  Morris  to  illustrate  a  catalogue  of  his  library,  and  the  other  six 
were  prepared  by  him  for  an  article  in  the  fourth  number  of  Bibliographical  part  of 
which  is  reprinted  as  an  introduction  to  the  book.  The  process  blocks  (with  one 
exception)  were  made  by  Walker  &  Boutall,  and  are  of  the  same  s'ize  as  the  original 
cuts. 

50.  The  Story  of  Sigurd  the  yolsung  and  the  Fall  of  the 
Niblungs.  By  William  Morris.  Small  folio.  Chaucer  type, 
with  title  and  headings  to  the  four  books  in  Troy  type.  In  black 
and  red.  Borders  33a  and  3^,  and  two  illustrations  designed  by 
Sir  Edward  Burne-Jones  and  engraved  by  W.  H.  Hooper.     160 


288  Timilliam  flDorris, 

on  paper  at  six  guineas,  6  on  vellum  at  twenty  guineas.  Dated 
January  19,  issued  February  25,  1898.  Published  at  the  Kelm- 
scott  Press.     Bound  in  limp  vellum,  with  blue  silk  ties. 

The  two  borders  used  in  this  book  were  almost  the  last  that  Mr.  Morris  de- 
signed. They  were  intended  for  an  edition  of  The  Hill  of  Venus,  which  was  to 
have  been  written  in  prose  by  him  and  illustrated  by  Sir  Edward  Burne-Jones.  The 
foliage  was  suggested  by  the  ornament  in  two  Psalters  of  the  last  half  of  the  thirteenth 
century  in  the  library  at  Kelmscott  House.  The  initial  A  at  the  beginning  of  the 
third  book  was  designed  in  March,  1893,  for  the  Froissart,  and  does  not  appear 
elsewhere. 

An  edition  oi  Sigurd  the  Volsurig,  which  Mr.  Morris  justly  considered  his  mas- 
terpiece, was  contemplated  early  in  the  history  of  the  Kelmscott  Press.  An  an- 
nouncement appears  in  a  proof  of  the  first  list,  dated  April,  1892,  hut  it  was  excluded 
from  the  list  as  issued  in  May.  It  did  not  reappear  until  the  list  of  November  26, 
189s,  in  which,  the  Chaucer  being  near  its  completion,  Sigurd  comes  under  the 
heading  "  in  preparation,"  as  a  folio  in  Troy  type,  "  with  about  twenty-five  illustra- 
tions by  Sir  Edward  Burne-Jones."  In  the  list  of  June  i,  1896,  it  is  finally  announced 
as  ' '  In  the  press,"  the  number  of  illustrations  is  increased  to  forty,  and  other  particulars 
are  given.  Four  borders  had  then  been  designed  for  it,  two  of  which  were  used  on 
pages  470  and  471  of  the  Chaucer.  The  other  two  have  not  been  used,  though  one 
of  them  has  been  engraved.  Two  pages  only  were  in  type,  thirty-two  copies  of 
which  were  struck  off  on  January  1 1,  1897,  and  given  to  friends,  with  the  sixteen 
pages  of  Froissart  mentioned  above. 

51.  The  Sundering  Flood.  Written  by  William  Morris. 
Overseen  for  the  press  by  May  Morris.  8vo.  Chaucer  type.  In 
black  and  red.  Border  10,  and  a  map.  300  on  paper  at  two 
guineas.  Dated  November  15,  1897,  issued  February  25,  1898. 
Published  at  the  Kelmscott  Press.     Bound  in  half  holland. 

This  was  the  last  romance  by  William  Morris.  He  began  to  write  it  on  De- 
cember 21,  1895,  and  dictated  the  final  words  on  September  8,  1896.  The  map 
pasted  into  the  cover  was  drawn  by  H.  Cribb  for  Walker  &  Boutall,  who  prepared 
the  block.  In  the  edition  that  Longmans  are  about  to  issue  the  bands  of  robbers 
called  in  the  Kelmscott  edition  Red  and  Black  Skinners  appear  correctly  as  Red  and 
Black  Skimmers.  The  name  was  probably  suggested  by  that  of  the  pirates  called 
"  escumours  of  the  sea  "  on  page  1 54  of  Godfrey  of  Boloj'iie. 

52.  Love  is  Enough,  or  the  Freeing  of  Pharamond ;  A 
Morality.  Written  by  William  Morris.  Large  4to.  Troy  type, 
with  stage  directions  in  Chaucer  type.  In  black,  red,  and  blue. 
Borders  6a  and  7,  and  two  illustrations  designed  by  Sir  Edward 
Burne-Jones.  300  on  paper  at  two  guineas,  8  on  vellum  at 
ten  guineas.  Dated  December  11,  1897,  issued  March  24, 
1898.  Published  at  the  Kelmscott  Press.  Bound  in  limp  vel- 
lum. 


Bibllocjrapb^,  289 

This  was  the  second  book  printed  in  three  colours  at  the  Kclmscott  Press, 
As  explained  in  the  colophon,  the  final  picture  was  not  designed  for  this  particular 
edition. 

53.  A  Note  by  IVilliam  Morris  on  his  Aims  in  Founding 
the  Kelmscott  Press.  Together  with  a  Short  Description  of  the 
Press,  by  S.  C.  Cockerell.  And  an  Annotated  List  of  the  Books 
Printed  Thereat.  Octavo.  Golden  type,  with  five  pages  in  the 
Troy  and  Chaucer  types.  In  black  and  red.  Borders  4a  and  4, 
and  a  woodcut  designed  by  Sir  E.  Burne-Jones.  525  on  paper 
at  ten  shillings,  12  on  vellum  at  two  guineas.  Dated  March 
4,  issued  March  24,  1898.  Published  at  the  Kelmscott  Press. 
Bound  in  half  holland. 

Various  Lists,  Leaflets,  and  Announcements  Printed  at  the 
Kelmscott  Press  : 

Eighteen  lists  of  the  books  printed  or  in  preparation  at  the 
Kelmscott  Press  were  issued  to  booksellers  and  subscribers.  The 
dates  of  these  are  May,  July,  and  December,  1892  ;  March  9, 
May  20,  May  27,  August  i,  and  December  i,  1893;  March  31, 
April  21,  July  2,  October  i  (a  leaflet),  and  December  i,  1894; 
July  I  and  November  26,  1895;  June  i,  1896;  February  16  and 
July  28,  1897.  The  three  lists  for  1892,  and  some  copies  of  that 
for  March  9,  1893,  were  printed  on  Whatman  paper,  the  last  of 
the  stock  bought  for  the  first  edition  of  77?^  Roots  of  the  Moun- 
tains. Besides  these,  twenty-nine  announcements,  relating 
mainly  to  individual  books,  were  issued  ;  and  eight  leaflets, 
containing  extracts  from  the  lists,  were  printed  for  distribution 
by  Messrs.  Morris  &  Co.  The  following  items,  as  having  a 
more  permanent  interest  than  most  of  these  announcements, 
merit  a  full  description  : 

1.  Two  forms  of  invitation  to  the  annual  gatherings  of  the 
Hammersmith  Socialist  Society  on  January  30,  1892,  and  Febru- 
ary II,  1893.     Golden  type. 

2.  A  four-page  leaflet  for  the  Ancoats  Brotherhood,  with 
the  frontispiece  from  the  Kelmscott  Press  edition  of  A  Dream  of 
John  Ball  on  the  first  page.  March,  189  Golden  type.  2500 
copies. 

3.  An  address  to  Sir  Lowthian  Bell,  Bart.,  from  his  em- 
ployees, dated  30th  June,  1894.  Eight  pages.  Golden  type. 
250  on  paper  and  2  on  vellum. 


290 


Timilliam  HDorris. 


4.  A  leaflet,  with  fly-leaf,  headed  An  American  Memorial 
to  Keats,  together  with  a  form  of  invitation  to  the  unveiling  of 
his  bust  in  Hampstead  Parish  Church  on  July  16,  1894.  Golden 
type.     750  copies. 

5.  A  slip  giving  the  text  of  a  memorial  tablet  to  Dr.  Thomas 
Sadler,  for  distribution  at  the  unveiling  of  it  in  Rosslyn  Hill 
Chapel,  Hampstead.    November,  1894.    Golden  type.    450 copies. 

6.  Scholarship  certificates  for  the  technical  Education  Board 
of  the  London  County  Council,  printed  in  the  oblong  borders  de- 
signed for  the  pictures  in  Chaucer's  Works.  One  of  these 
borders  was  not  used  in  the  book,  and  this  is  its  only  appear- 
ance. The  first  certificate  was  printed  in  November,  1894,  and 
was  followed  in  January,  1896,  by  eleven  certificates;  in  January, 
1897,  by  six  certificates;  and  in  February,  1898,  by  eleven  cer- 
tificates, all  differently  worded.  Golden  type.  The  numbers 
varied  from  12  to  2500  copies. 

7.  Programmes  of  the  Kelmscott  Press  annual  Wa\\goose 
for  the  years  1892-95.  These  were  printed  without  supervision 
from  Mr.  Morris. 

8.  Specimen  showing  the  three  types  used  at  the  Press  for 
insertion  in  the  first  edition  of  Strange's  Alphabets  March, 
1895.     2000  ordinary  copies  and  60  on  large  paper. 

9.  Cards  for  Associates  of  the  Deaconess  Institution  for  the 
Diocese  of  Rochester.  One  side  of  this  card  is  printed  in  Chaucer 
type  ;  on  the  other  there  is  a  prayer  in  the  Troy  type  enclosed  in 
a  small  border  which  was  not  used  elsewhere.  It  was  designed 
for  the  illustrations  of  a  projected  edition  of  The  House  of  the 
Wolfings,     April,  1897.     250  copies. 


INDEX. 


/Eneid,  The,  122-124,  144 
/Eschjilns,  262 

Agamemnon,  Browning's,  124 
Allingham,  William,  42,  48,  70 
Amiens  Cathedral,  article  on,  by  Morris, 

34,  36-39 
/Imis  and  y4mile,  translation  by  Morris, 

220 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  1 77 
Aristophanes,  262 
Arnold,  Matthew,  140 
Arts  and  Crafts  Exhibition  Society,  The, 

191 
Art  Worker's  Guild,  The,  192 
Atalanta  in  Calydon,  Swinburne's,  229 
Athencvum,  The,  152 


B 


Bagehot,  Walter,  quoted,  ^6 

Ballads  and  Narrative  Poems,  Rossetti's, 

229 
Batchelor,  Mr.,  221 
Bax,  E.  Belfort,  218 
Beata  Beatrix,  picture  by  Rossetti,  ss 
Beauty  of  Life,  The,  Morris's  lecture  on, 

65 
Belgium,  1 10 

Beowulf,  The  Tale  of,  230,  2^1,  262 
Besant,  Mrs.,  180 

Bethel,  Alfred,  article  on,  by  Morris,  34 
Bible,  the,  262 
Biblia  Innocentium,  Mackail's,  228 


Bibliographical  Society,  The,  192 

Birkbeck  Hill,  Dr.,  47,  73 

Birmingham   Society   of  Artists,   lecture 

to,  02 
Blackburn,  168 
Blake,  William,  263 
"  Bloody  Sunday,"  179 
Boccaccio,  263 

Book  of  IVisdom  and  Lies,  The,  230 
Borrow,  George,  263 
British     Museum,    the    woodblocks    of 

Kelmscott  Press  in  possession  of,  235 
Brown,  Madox,  1 1  3 
Browning,   Robert,  his  poems,  37,  39, 

40.  57-59 

Bryant,  William  CuUen,  his  translation 
of  The  Odyssey  compared  with  Morris's 
translation,  142 

Bulgaria,  140 

Burne-Jones,  Edward,  1 ;  his  first  meet- 
ing with  Morris,  2;,  24;  the  beginning 
of  his  art,  20;  his  trip  with  Morris  and 
Fulford  through  Northern  France,  26, 
27;  his  decision  to  leave  college  and 
study  art,  27;  his  admiration  for  Ros- 
setti, 26,  27  et  seq. 

Bury  Wood,  15,  16 

Byron,  236 


Cambridge  University  Library,  221 
Canterbury  Cathedral,  Morris's  early  visit 

to,  6 
Canterbury  Tales,  The,  115 


2ijl 


292 


1In^CI♦ 


Captain  Singleton,  263 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  24,  150,  263 

Carmagnole,  The,  song,  1 78 

Carpets,  89 

Catterson-Smith,  R.,  233 

Catullus,  202 

Chants  for  Socialists,  218 

Chartres,  27 

Chaucer,    115,    116,    119,   137,251-234, 
237,  238,  256,  262 

Chaucer  type,  the,  224 

Child  Christopher  and  Goldilands  the 
Fair,  231 

Chingford  Hotel,  15 

Chiswick  Press,  the,  33,  205,  206 

Clarke,  William,  166 

Clay  Road,  15 

Cockerell,  S.  C,  234 

Coleridge's  Poems,  selection  from,  by 
Morris,  232,  263 

Colonel  Jack,  263 

Colour,  Morris's  opinions  on,  8;,  84,  92 

Commonweal,  The,  organ  of  the  Social- 
ist League,  175,  183,  185,  195,  201, 
203,  209,  210,  218 

Crane,  Walter,  175,  192,  229 


D 


Daily  Chronicle,    The,    Morris's  letters 

to,  concerning  Epping  Forest,  12-18; 

letter  by  Morrison  Socialism,  180-189 
Daily  News,  7*fe^,  quotation  from,   146- 

148 
Daisy    Chain,    The,    its    influence    on 

Morris,  24 
Dante,  262 
Day,  Lewis,  31,  78 

Defence  of  Guenevere,  The,  54,  S9,  228 
Democratic   Federation,   the,    157,    108, 

170,  174,  180 
De  Vinne,  Th.,  on  the  Kelmscott  Press, 

224 
Dickens,  Charles,  263 
Dixon,  Canon,  34 
Dream  of  John  Ball,  A,  195,  201-203, 


Dumas,  Alexandre,  263 


Diirer,  261 

Dyes,  Morris's  preferences  in,  91 


Earthly  Paradise,  The,  59,   115,   116- 

120,  144,  219,  233 
Eastern  Question  Association,  The,  148 
Edda,  The,  262 
Ellis,  F.  S.,  221-232,  237 
English  Illustrated  Magazine,  The,  218 
Epistola  de  Contemptu  Mundi,  2^0 
Epping  Forest,  Morris's  early  familiarity 

with,  7,  11;  his  letters  concerning  its 

destruction,  11-18 
Erewhon,  Kingsley's,  163 
Eve  of  Crecy,  poem  by  Morris,  55 
Exeter  College,  193 
Exile,  The,  262 
Eyrhyggja  Saga,  The,  144 


Fair  Mead  Bottom,  15 

Farringdon  Road,  loi,  177 

Faulkner,  Charles,  47,  70,  73,  108,  iii, 

263 
Floure  and  the  Leafe,  The,  233 
Forman,  Buxton,  205,  206 
Freeman,  E.  A.,  149 
Froissart,  57,  233 


Germ,  The,  33 

Gertha's  Lovers,  36 

Ghirlandata,  The,  picture  by  Rossetti, 

ss 
Giotto,  261 
Gisli,  109 
Glasgow,  168 
Glittering  Plain,  The,  221,  229,  246, 

248 
Godefrey  of  Boloyne,  Caxton's  history  of, 

228 
Golden  Legend,  Caxton's,  221,  223,  227, 

228 
Golden  type,  the,  221 
Goldilocks  and  Goldilocks,  7,  228 


Ilnbci. 


293 


Good  King  IVenceslas,  ballad  printed  at 

the  Kelmscott  F'ress,  4,  5 
Gothic  /Irchittxtiire,  lecture  by  Morris, 

228 
Green,  J.  R.,  149 
Grettir,  109 
Grimm,  203 
Gudrun,  109 


H 


Hammersmith,  97,    107,  108,    176,   181, 

257 
Hammersmith  Socialist  Society,  The,  185, 

189 
Hand  and  Soul,  Rossetti's,  231 
Hardj>  Norseman's  Home  of  Yore,  149 
Havre,  27 

Heir  of  Redely ffe.  The,  24 
Herodotus,  262 
Herrick's  Poems,  231 
Hesiod,  262 
High  Beach,  17 

History  of  Florence,  Arezzo's,  220 
History    of    Oversea,      translated     by 

Morris,  230 
Historyes  ofTroye,  Caxton's,  22;,  228 
Hollow  Land,  The,  36,  40 
Homer,  262 

Hornbeams,  Morris's  liking  for,  i  3 
House  of  the  IVolfings,  The,  195,  203- 

205,  207,  239,  246 
Huckleberry  Finn,  263 
Hughes,  Arthur,  49 
Hugo,  Victor,  263 


I 


Iceland,   Morris's  first  voyage  to,    108- 

iio;   second  voyage,  110 
Idylls  of  the  King, 'Yennyson's,  126,  136 
Irish  National  League,  The,  180 


J 


Jorrocks,  Mr.,  263 

Justice,  organ  of  the  Democratic  Federa- 
tion, 168,  169 


K 

Kalevala,  262 

Keats,  John,  24,  27,  34.  229,  238,  263 

Kelmscott  Church,  258 

Kelmscott  House,  108,  221 

Kelmscott  Books,  prices  of,  238 

Kelmscott  Manor  House,  101-108 

Kelmscott   Press,    The,    177,    219-239, 

King's  Lesson,  A,  203 
Kingsley,  Charles,  24,  25 
Koburger,  Anthony,  223 


Lang,  Andreu^,  122-124 

Laudes  Be  alec  MaricB  Virginis,  233 

Laxdivla  Saga,  The,  1 1 6 

Lechlade,  101 

Leeds,  168 

Leicester,  168 

Leonardo,  261 

Lesser  Arts,  The,  lecture  by  Morris  on,  04 

Life  and  Death  of  Jason,  The,  114,  231, 

238 
Life  of  Cardinal  IVolsey,  Cavendish's, 

228 
Lin:iell,  Alfred,  180,  181 
Looking  Backward,  Bellamy's,  209 
Loughton,  IS 

Love  is  Enough,  120-122,  21Q,  254 
Lovers  of  Gudrun,  The,  1 1  o 
Lowell,  J.  R.,  quoted,  57,  229 
Lucretius,  262 


M 


Mabiuogion,  263 

Mackail,  Mr.,  24,  33,  62,  71,  97,   no, 

111,    120,    122,    150,    191,    193,  229, 

263 
Maeterlinck,  Morris  compared  to,  57 
Madox-Brown,  Ford,  70 
Magnusson,  Mr.,  108,  125 
Mahabbarata,  262 
Making  the  Best  of  It,  lecture  by  Morris 

on  house-decoration,  83 
Manchester,  168 


294 


flnbCL 


Marlborough  College,  Morris  a  student 
in,  6,  9 

Marshall,  Peter  Paul,  70 

Maud,  Tennyson's,  228 

Meinhold,  William,  229 

Men  and  IVomen,  Browning's,  reviewed 
by  Morris,  34,  39 

Merton  Abbey,  175,  190 

Milton,  26^ 

Moll  Flanders,  263 

Monk  Wood,   15 

Morris,  May  (Mrs.  Sparling),  daughter  of 
Wm.  Morris,  177 

Morris,  Mrs.,  wife  of  William  Morris,  si, 
53,  59,  66 

Morris  and  Co.,  69  ;  formation  of  the 
firm,  69  ;  prospectus  of,  71,  72  ;  dis- 
solution of,   1 1  i-i  13 

Morte  d' Arthur,  painting  from,  at  Ox- 
ford Union,  49,  263 

Murray,  Fairfax,  230 

N 

Nature  of  the  Gothic,  The,  160,  228 

Newcomes,  The,  quotation  from,  30 

Newman,  Jno.,  25 

News  from  Nowhere,  98,  102  ;  quota- 
tion from,  103-107,  163-165,  195, 
200,  209-212,  213,  238,  258 

Nibelungen  Lied,  262 

Njal,  109 

O 

Odyssey,  The,  142-144,  210 

Old  Story  Retold,  An,  see  A  King's 
Lesson 

Omar  Khayya?/i,  262 

Orbeliani,  Sulkhan-Saba,  230 

Order  of  Chivalry,  The,  Caxton's  trans- 
lation of,  228 

Ordination  of  Knighthood,  Morris's 
translation  of,  228 

Ovid,  262 

Oxford,    191  ;  Morris's    life  at,    1-29; 
abuses  at,  23-23,  31,  41,  168,  loi 

Oxford  and  Cambridge  Magazine,  The, 

33 
Oxford  Union,  paintings  for,  49-S2,  ^4 


Pali-Mall  Gazette,  The,  189,  261 
Paper  used  at  Kelmscott  Press,  222 
Patmore,    Coventry,   on  Oxford    Union 

paintings,  52,  120 
Penitential  Psalms,  The,  230 
Pennell,  Joseph,  181 
Percyvelle  of  Gales,  Syr,  23 1 
Piers  Plowman,  262 
Pilgrims  of  Hope,  The,  poem  by  Morris, 

195-201 
Pilgrim's  Progress,  263 
Plato,  262 
Pliny,  Jensen's  220 
Poems,  Keats's,  229 
Poems,  Shakespeare's,  228 
Poems  by  the  IVay,  7,  227 
Pollen,  J.  Hungerford,  49 
Praise  of  A/y  Lady,  poem  by  Morris,  52, 

53 
Prinsep,  Valentine,  49 
Prioress's     Tale,     The,    Burne- Jones's 

paintings  from,  47 
Professorship     of     Poetry     at     Oxford, 

Morris  declines,  149 
Proserpine,  picture  by  Rossetti,  54 
Pugin,  31 

Q_ 

Queen  Square,  Morris's  residence  in,  97, 

101 
Quest,  The,  article  by  Morris  in,  102 

R 

Raphael,  261 

Rapun^el,  poem  by  Morris,  57 

Red  Lion  Square,  46,  71,  81 

Red  House,  The,  61-68,  96,  97,  loi,  114 

Rembrandt,  261 

Restoration  of  ancient  buildings,  32 

Reynard  the  Fox,  263 

Robinson  Crusoe,  263 

Robinson,  Ralph,  213,  228 

Rome,  01 

Roots  of  the  Mountains,  The,  195,  207- 

209,  246 
Rosamond,  Swinburne's,  54 


1In^CL 


295 


Rossetti,  Dante  Gabriel,  i,  9,  27;  Mor- 
ris's first  meeting  with,  40-42;  his 
service  to  Morris,  43-46;  at  Oxford, 
49-51;  and  Jane  Burden,  51;  The 
Defence  of  Guenevcre  dedicated  to, 
54,  55;  his  part  in  the  tbrmation  of  the 
firm  "  Morris,  Marshall,  Faulkner,  & 
Co.,"  69-74;  at  Kelmscott,  101-103, 
108;  his  attitude  respecting  the  disso- 
lution of  the  firm,  1 1 1-1  13;  his  Hand 
and  Sou!,  231 

Rossetti,  William,  70,  112,  113 

Rubaiyat  of  Omar  Khayyam,  The,   144 

Rubens,  Jacobus,  220 

Ruin,  The,  262 

Ruskin,  19,  23,  24,  27,  151,  160,  263 


St.  Mark's  Cathedral,  1 54 
Savernake   Forest,   Morris's  early  famili- 
arity with,  7 
Savonarola,  230 
Schoeffer,  Peter,  223 
Scott,  Gilbert,  31,  152 
Scott,  Walter,  5,  19,  263 
Shahnameh,  262 
Shakespeare,  24,  137 
Shaw,  Bernard,  on  Nttpkins  Awakened, 

3'.   '79 

Shelley,  I'ercy  Bysshe,  24,  101,  230,  263 

Shepherde's  Calender,  The,  233 

Sidonia  the  Sorceress,  Lady  Wilde's, 
228 

Signs  of  Change,  lectures  by  Morris, 
218 

Sigurd,  109 

Sir  Galahad,  54 

Sire  Degravaunt,  66,  234 

Socialism,  162-218 

Socialism  from  the  Root  Up,  book  by 
Morris  and  Bax,  218 

Socialist  League,  The,  175-177.  '80, 
182,  185 

Society  for  Protection  ot  Ancient  Build- 
ings, The,  153,  157 

Society  of  Antiquaries,  192 

Sophocles,  262 

Spectator,  7"/:^,  letter  from  Morris  in,  2^52 


Stanhope,  Spencer,  49 

Stanmore  Tapestry,  The,  99 

Stead,  William,  263 

Stevenson,  Robert  Louis,  his  letter  to  his 

father,  9,    124 
Stones  of  (Venice,  The,  27,  160,  228 
Story  of  the  Glittering  Plain,  The,  109, 

218,  227,  243 
Story  of  Sigur  the  ydsiDig,  The,  125- 

142,  144,  146,  227,  234,  238 
Street,  George  Edmund,  31,  42,  63 
Sundering  Flood,  The,  234,   239,  240, 

242,  257 
Surts-hellir,  cave  at,  109 
Svend  and  his  Brethren,  36,  37 
Swainslow,  2^6 
Swinburne,  A.  C,  229 
Syr  Ysambrace,  234 


Tables     Turned,     The;    or,    Nupkins 

Awakened,  farce  by  Morris,  1  77 
Tale  of  the   Emperor   Constans,    The, 

translated  by  Morris,  230 
Tale  of  King  Flortis  and  Fair  Tehaue, 

translated  by  Morris,  227 
Taylor,    George     Wanington,    Morris's 

business  manager,  97 
Tennyson,  Alfred,  24,  177 
Teutonic  Mythology,  263 
Tewkesbury,  restoration   of  the  Abbey 

Church  at,   \^2 
Thackeray,  William  M.,  24 
Theocritus,  202 

Thousand  and  One  Nights,  The,  263 
Three  Northern  I.ove-Siories  and  Other 

rj/t-s,  translations  by  Morris,  125 
Trafalgar  Square,  161,  179-181 
Troy  Type,  The,  223,  225 
Tyndall,  Prof.  177 

U 

Uncle  Remus,  263 
Upton,  Morris's  residence  at,  62,  96 
Useful  IVork  versus  Useless  Toil,  lec- 
ture bv  Morris,  10s 
Utopia,  More's,  213-217,  228,  203 


296 


Unbci* 


Van  Eyck,  his  motto  chosen  by  Morris, 

68 
Velasquez,  261 
Verona,  61 
Viollet-le-Duc,  31 
Virgil,  122-124,  262 
Volsunga  Saga,  The,  125 
yojyage  Round  the  World,  263 

W 

Wagner,  Richard,  13s,  14' 

IVake,  London  Lads  !  ballad  by  Morris, 

148 
Walker,  Emery,  22,  20s,  209 
Wall-papers,  81-83 
Wallace,    Alfred,    his    suggestion    that 

Epping  Forest  be  planted  with  North 

American  trees,  1 1 
Walthamstow,  3,  10 
Wardrop,  Oliver,  230 
Warren,  Sir  Charles,  179 
Water  of  the  Wondrous  Isles,  The,  253, 

240,  24s,  248-251 
Watts-Dunton,  Theodore,  69 


Waverley    Novels,    the,    Morris's   early 

fondness  for,  3 
Weaving,  85,  86 
Webb,    Philip,    architect    of    the    Red 

House,  61,  70,  75,  82,  111 
Well  at   the  World's  End,   The,  232, 

24s,  248 
Westminster  Abbey,  134,  181 
White  Horse,  The,  30 
Whitney,  Miss  Anne,  229 
Whittingham,  Charles,  3? 
Wilde,  Lady,  228 
Women  and  Roses,  Browning's,  39 
Wood  beyond  the  World,  The,  Morris's, 

7,  230,  242,  252 
Woodford  Hall,  home  of  the  Morrises,  3 
Working   Men's   College,   Burne-Jones's 

visit  to,  40 
Wyatt,  A.  J.,  230 


Yonge,  Miss,  24 


Zainer,  Gunther,  223 


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